


What We Can Offer

by syn0dic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Other, a content warning for mild death depictions, accidentally adopting sickly infants, because. i love her., oh no the suspense is killing me will the baby live, there's probably going to be other works about this fankid later, verdant wind implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn0dic/pseuds/syn0dic
Summary: Ashe encounters a situation while volunteering to help the many sick in Fhirdiad's streets. Rather than simply let nature run its course, he decides that he and his husband ought to give what they can: the peace such a little baby deserves.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 47
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> google decided to try to show me ads for diapers and cribs because i ended up googling so much about infant care. sucks for you google, i'm a shut-in lesbian who simply does my fanfiction research

“Thank you,” said the older woman in a hoarse tone. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s what we can offer,” said Ashe, kneeling beside her as he handed out bowls of hot soup. Maybe not restaurant quality, he thought, but nourishment was nourishment. She gave a tired smile back to him as she raised the bowl to her lips, the steam rising in the chilly air of early spring in Fhirdiad. It was the first dry day in many weeks; winters were wet, summers were dry, and spring was rainy. “If you stay until tomorrow, we’ll have more then. Make sure you get one of the nurses to check your throat,” he said, trying to help as best as he could.

“Thank you,” she said, heaving a cough and pulling the blanket around herself more tightly. Ashe leaned down and helped her pull the blanket tighter.

Many of the halls were shelters now for those who were ill, even though they couldn’t shelter everyone, and since Ashe had once had the same illness, scarlatina, as a little boy, he wouldn’t catch ill with it again. He could help, even if it was only handing out food. It was wrong, he thought, that the illnesses that had plagued Faerghus for so long were still being allowed to spread, even if the new reforms under the united continent had helped bring real aid in a meaningful sense to a place that had for so long been kept in poverty.

Ashe stood back up and looked around the stone hall. It was getting late. He could head home soon, home, to his husband Dedue, who was opening the doors of their inn for those in need, and home to a warm fire to sit in front of and talk about his long day.

“You look tired,” said one of the other aids, another young man who had been a volunteer in the war.

“I’ve been here since early this morning,” said Ashe with a cheeky smile. “But it’s the right thing to do. I’m not a healer, but at least we can help keep things running smoothly.”

“It’s better not to be a healer sometimes,” said the young man, shrugging. “You have to see the worst of it when you’re a healer.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Ashe, giving him a reassuring smile. “But things will get better come springtime. You can handle it. You were in the war, weren’t you?”

“Down in Leicester, yeah,” said the young man. “The United Kingdom had me move up here to help. Me and my fiance are going to stay here, though.”

“Get home to them safe tonight,” said Ashe with a smile and a pat to the young man’s back. “I get to go home to my husband tonight if Mathild doesn’t have thirty more things for me to do. If she does, then it might be tomorrow morning.”

“Good luck!” called the young man. Turning, he walked to one of the nurses, a woman with mousy hair, who was blessing and praying over the body of a young Duscur man, barely any younger than Ashe himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the nurse, removing his apron and draping it over his arm to hang, “but Mathild, I have to go home.”

“Can you spare a few more minutes? Please?” She leaned down and picked up a bundle out of the man’s arms. “Someone dragged this poor soul in here and he died within moments. And-- oh, Goddess,” she said, unfurling the tiny bundle. “A...a baby.”

“Nobody checked?” Ashe frowned in concern, glancing around before realizing that almost every nurse in the hall had their hands full and that one man likely slipped under the radar, along with the tiny package in his arms.

“Hadn’t had a chance.” She held a hand to its forehead. “It’s alive. Ashe,” she said, thrusting it into his hands, “get it right to the nurses.”

“Mathild, I have to go--”

“Please.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and he looked down at the tiny thing in his arms-- what was a few more minutes?

“Alright. But after that, I have to go home.” He held the infant close-- it couldn’t be more than two months old, and looked very small and very ill, which made him uneasy. The nurses for infants and children were on the other end of the hall, and he stepped around the cots and blankets on the floor. He tried to ignore how heavy the smell of illness and death hung in the room.

“Ramon,” he said, approaching the man he knew often helped with the sickest children, “this little one’s father just passed and it seems very ill. I’m leaving for the night, but I’m afraid I’ll have to hand it to you.”

“We can’t take it.” Ramon bounced a feverish two year old in his arms. “I’m sorry. It’s all hands on the deck right now, we don’t have any spare beds or mattresses.” He peeked over Ashe’s shoulder at the little bundle. “You said it has no parent?”

“No,” said Ashe, holding the baby out for Ramon to look at.

“Then it won’t live too much longer. It’s already got the rash,” he said, solemnity in his voice. “Without anyone to nurse, we might as well bury it with its father.”

Ashe stared down at the little bundle. Yes, the cheeks were rosy and rash covered, and white hair was plastered to its forehead with sweat, and the blue eyes were glassy and dazed. He didn’t know what the baby’s name was, or whether it was a boy or a girl. It was so young, he thought, holding it close to keep it warm in the cold air. “I see. Then I’ll be heading out. Thank you,” he said, hanging up his apron and tugging his coat back over his shoulders as he walked out into the crisp air of early spring.

Snow was drifting to the ground, the fat lazy snow of spring that could drift or melt, whichever way the wind went, and his breath froze in the air as he took the first gasp into Fhirdiad’s bustling streets. The baby didn’t flinch or shake, but that, to his knowledge, was a poor sign. He held it with one arm under his coat, sheltering it from the cold and welcoming it into the fold of his body heat. He kept to the emptier streets on the way back to the inn, lest he run into any trouble and further endanger the little bundle.

What was Ashe going to do with it?

He couldn’t nurse a child, and neither could his husband. Wet nurses were impossible to find in times like these; motherless infants were increasingly common in the city and it was bound to be expensive to hire. Even if the child recovered from illness, where would it go after this? There was no way to find any surviving family. And although he and his husband had talked about children and adoption, something as sudden as this would be a leap, to say the least. Besides, they didn’t have a cradle.

But even as these thoughts ran through his mind, he heard the baby let out a low, weak cry for a few seconds and rushed to the side of the street. Leaning against a stone wall while people walked past, he scooped it out of the jacket.

“Hey,” he said, holding it closer for a few moments and bouncing the infant in his arms. “Shh, shh, shh.” He smoothed the white hair against the baby’s dark forehead, and it opened its eyes. They were a dark blue. The baby didn’t quiet at all, but he tucked it back into his coat anyways, supporting it with both arms.

The Maplebow Inn was situated, steadfast and tidy, on the cobblestone of southern Fhirdiad. Ashe knew it well; it had once been his parents’. He could find it in the streets blindfolded, he thought, pushing open the door with his back and elbow to keep the little bundle sheltered appropriately, although it was still crying, quiet though it was.

The hall was bustling with guests; Dedue had offered to feed anyone in need as best as they could, and many people were in need. He pushed past them to the kitchen doors, leaning backwards into them.

“Dedue,” he called, walking through the smokey room, dense with the smells of cooking meat and spices.

“Your timing is impeccable,” said Dedue. “We’re in need of help with some potatoes.”

“I can’t,” said Ashe, sliding his coat off. “Uh, I found this slight situation while I was out at the ward.”

“Situation?” Dedue looked up from the vegetables he was scraping into the pot, and his eyes grew wide. “I see.”

“I know we don’t have the means to keep it for long,” said Ashe, holding it to his shoulder, “and it may die with or without us. But they didn’t have any spare room or hands to take care of it at the ward and its father died.” It cried out loudly and he shushed it, rubbing its back.

“Is it the scarlatina?” Dedue’s brow furrowed as he hefted the pot over to the potstand on the fire.

“Yes,” said Ashe. “But we can give it a happy few days, or at least some kindness.”

Dedue’s face softened and he glanced at the little bundle. Ashe wished he could tell what his husband was thinking at moments like this. He’d really gone and brought a deathly ill baby into their home, hadn’t he? It was only processing at that very moment to Ashe.

“Of course,” said Dedue, wiping his hands on his apron. “We shouldn’t stay in the kitchen. Upstairs.”

“If you’re busy, then I can handle it,” said Ashe, still lightly rocking the little one on his shoulder.

“You’ll need an extra pair of hands,” said Dedue. “The evening rush is over as well. We can both properly handle the situation.” He hung the apron on one of the hooks beside the door and held open the door for Ashe and the baby.

The Maplebow Inn was small. Memorized by heart, Ashe knew it. There was the low dining hall on the bottom level lit by a fireplace and braziers, and a large kitchen; most guests ate in their rooms. The kitchen was ancient. Ashe remembered being a little boy and feeding crackling bits of bark to the woodstove before his mother had laughed and waved a ladle at him. Nothing was new, and nothing needed to be new; the magic of what he and Dedue cooked didn’t need the shimmering new woodstoves or perfect, undented pots of more expensive kitchens. It was comforting as it was. Behind the kitchen was the entryway to their apartment on the second floor, the stairway and door tucked away at the very back. The apartment was small; two miniscule bedrooms (one empty) and a tidy living area and water closet divided by painted wood walls Ashe had known so well growing up, and though it had changed hands between when he and Dedue had bought it back, a few of the furniture pieces he remembered from his childhood were still present. They’d still had to buy new chairs, though.

The stairs creaked underfoot as Ashe carefully walked. It was trickier than he thought to carry a baby up a flight of stairs, and he teetered and reached for the handrail on more than one occasion.

Ashe twisted the brass doorknob at the top of the stairs and leaned in, pushing the door open, and stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room. He didn’t know what to do first. The last time he’d taken care of a baby was just after he’d left Garreg Mach, helping at an orphanage properly for a few days. That was six or seven years ago now. What do you do with a baby? He had completely...frozen.

“Wh…” He paused. “It needs fed.”

“And changed and kept warm,” agreed Dedue. “Ashe, do you want me to hold the baby?”

Ashe nodded, and handed the bundle to Dedue. The poor thing was still whining. “I’ll get the fireplace going.”

“Of course,” said Dedue, holding it so gently that Ashe was almost brought to tears. He scurried to get the fireplace lit, hands shaking as he struck the match into the tinder.

“How are we going to feed it?” He was jittery with nerves, unsure of what to do, but somehow Dedue seemed so even tempered.

“Get one of the saucepans from our kitchen and warm some milk in it,” said Dedue, the baby slowly quieting as Dedue rocked it. He stood and walked to the trunk beside the fireplace, one arm still cradling the little thing as he rummaged through the blankets and clothing. Ashe carried the saucepan to the fireplace hearth, steadily holding it over the flames on his knees as he tried not to feel too afraid. He dipped his pinky in the warm milk, and realized he had no idea of what temperature it was meant to be-- but warm was warm, and it was just about the same temperature as he was.

Dedue was rewrapping the baby on the top of the trunk and had left the washroom door open-- Ashe caught a glimpse of a cloth diaper that the baby’s father must’ve once wrapped and taken care of, and a few blankets, but glanced back at the pot. “She’s a girl,” said Dedue, holding her in one blanket and rocking her as he headed to the washroom. “And she needs bathed. She’s been in the same blankets for too long.”

“The milk is warm already, though,” said Ashe, slightly panicked at how adept his husband was with the baby.

“It will still be there when she’s all clean,” he said, and Ashe set down the pot and walked to the washroom, where Dedue was still bouncing her on his shoulder and had started the tap on the bathtub running and was checking the temperature. “The water has to be just warm,” he said to Ashe, glancing up at him. “Bring her a towel, please.”

“Alright,” said Ashe, fetching one from the trunk and returning, sitting cross legged on the washroom tile as he watched Dedue bathe the feverish little baby. She wasn’t shaking, but the rash covered her face, neck, and body in a way that seemed to be a horrible sign, to Ashe. If he had seen such a thing on an adult, he would have known that their time was near, and on such a young baby, his heart ached. He sat in silence for a few moments, the concern almost overwhelming him. “How do you know what to do?” he asked Dedue quietly.

“I had family this age once.” He wiped a little water out of the baby’s face, keeping it away from her eyes. “I took care of them when the other adults were busy.”

“Oh,” said Ashe. “I knew that. You told me all about them. But I suppose I never considered how young some of them must’ve been.”

“I suppose it must be hard to imagine such things,” said Dedue, picking the little one up into his arms and wrapping her in the towel, holding her close and wiping water away off of the top of her head where downy white hair was sprouting. “But there were babies and children. My sister had a son who was only a few months old. A very happy one.” 

Dedue kissed the top of the baby’s head; she had quieted some, and although it was neither a good nor bad sign, even simply talking to his husband and the slow lull that the baby had fallen into was at least somewhat soothing to Ashe. He stood up and pulled the drain in the tub and held open the washroom door, closing it behind Dedue.

“I’ll check the milk again,” he said, walking back to the hearth and lifting the pan. “How hot should it be?”

“The same temperature as your skin,” said Dedue, who took the spare blanket he’d left out off of the back of one of the armchairs and wrapped her in it, then sat down. “Get one of the clean cloths from the kitchen and bring it here once it’s ready.”

“Right,” said Ashe, clearing his throat and pulling the pan away from the fire to cool. It was too hot. He went and got the cloth anyways, restlessly running between errands and handing it to Dedue. “What’s it for?”

“She can’t drink like we can yet. We’ll dip the cloth in the milk to feed her.” He smoothed her damp hair off of her face, and Ashe leaned over the back of the chair, watching the little baby’s dim eyes meet theirs. He couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s sweet,” admitted Ashe.

“She’s tired,” said Dedue. “And a fighter.”

“I’ll get the milk,” said Ashe, dipping his finger in it and deciding it was about right, then twisting the cloth into something easy enough for the baby to suck at and dipping it into the cloth.

“Thank you,” said Dedue as Ashe handed it to him, and Ashe set the pot of warm milk on the side table, then sat down in the adjacent armchair, watching with his elbows on his knees.

“I remember when my sister was this age,” said Ashe, brows furrowed. “She was never sick like this, though.”

“Not many children who grow up ever are.” Dedue sighed and lowered the cloth to her lips, which weakly parted as she slowly ate.

“Do you think she’ll live?” Ashe scooted forward.

“No.” Dedue shook his head. “I don’t. With her rash as it was and the weakness and fever, I think we’ll be lucky if she survives the night. She’s getting weaker.”

“I know,” said Ashe, almost ashamed of himself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her home. She belongs with her father.”

“No,” said Dedue, “she deserves a chance. She would have certainly died if you hadn’t brought her back. With both of us, she only might die. Here,” said Dedue, standing and slowly handing her to Ashe, along with the milk-soaked cloth, “try feeding her.”

“Oh!” Ashe held her, supporting her neck like Dedue had, and helped the cloth into her mouth. She didn’t suck at it at all, letting it simply sit, while her glazed dark blue eyes slowly closed. He could feel his heart sink. She was so weak. He was afraid that at any second, she could die in his arms. “Her fever is worse than it was,” he said softly as Dedue perused the bookshelf, holding their oil lamp in one hand and running his other along the spines as he searched for something specific.

“I know,” said Dedue, finding the book he’d searched for and hauling the tome, large and very old, to his armchair and sitting down. He slid his reading glasses onto his nose and opened it, flipping through the pages for something specific.

Ashe knew this book. He himself had gone searching in it a few times before, and would often emerge less lost than he had been before. It was a book on the spiritual practices and faith remedies of Duscur. It had been pieced together a long time ago, and Ashe had found it secondhand and been so exceedingly proud of himself for finding it. It was handwritten, the notes of many healers and prophets and visionaries through who knew how many years, and they had found it.

“Why the book?” asked Ashe, only just humming and praying the baby in his arms would drink.

“To see,” said Dedue, “if there’s any miracles that can help us.” His eyes glanced over the pages of familiar language, one that Ashe was only just learning, and the infant in his arms began to doze. He awoke her to burp-- he remembered that much about babies, but afterwards, he lulled her to a quiet sleep. Carefully, he watched her breathe. Each little rattle in her throat and chest may have been her last, thought Ashe, but he could make sure to keep her warm and comfortable.

“She’s asleep,” said Ashe, reaching for a second blanket to wrap her in to make sure she was warm now that she was dry and fed. “What kind of miracle?”

“My mother used to pray when my grandfather was sick. There were specific words, for asking gods to lend strength to people so that they could heal, and there was ritual and song-- but I can’t remember it like I once did.” He took off his glasses and rubbed at his temples, and Ashe sighed.

“Maybe...maybe it doesn’t need to be the words like that. Do you remember how I used to know how to faith heal?”

“I do,” said Dedue, pondersome, since he had once known the same thing. “But it’s Fodlan magic. The Goddess is no more a goddess than you or I was.”

“Well, yes,” said Ashe, “but it’s not the goddess or gods performing the specific style of healing. It’s your belief in something manifesting itself in magic.”

“It comes from within. I remember this once being explained.” He pushed back white strands of loose hair.

“Well, it stands to reason you could try to blend the two. Your faith in the gods of Duscur and the way that Fodlan magic manifests it, right?” Ashe’s brows furrowed.

“Ashe,” said Dedue, “you remember how to heal. Wouldn’t this be easier for you?”

“I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know what I really have that kind of faith in anymore.” Ashe chewed his lip and looked down at the little girl in his arms. What kind of gods let innocent infants suffer like this, he didn’t know.

“I see,” said Dedue, expression softening. “Then I can try.” He put his glasses back on and continued reading, and flipped to the appendices at the back, then to another page.

“Well?” asked Ashe after a few moments.

“I think I’m ready.” Dedue inhaled stood up, and Ashe did as well, standing close in front of the fire with the baby between them as he passed her to Ashe.

Dedue prayed in Duscur. Ashe could catch a few words of it, mercy, strength, life, please, breathing, fire, dance-- but they strung together in his nervous, sleep addled mind, and Dedue held the little girl with gentle, sad green eyes, and Ashe ached. He ached with sadness for her, for his husband who had lost an entire world, for a child who had never known hers.

And Dedue went quiet and sat back down, still holding her, though she blinked her eyes open.

“Did it work?” Ashe asked in a low whisper.

“I don’t think it did.” Dedue’s expression didn’t change, but Ashe could see it in his eyes-- the sorrow.

“We tried. That’s what matters most.” Ashe tried to smile. “Tomorrow morning, we can make sure she’s buried with respect. I wish I knew her name.” He sniffed slightly.

“It’s alright.” Dedue smoothed her burning, rashed forehead. “We don’t know if we’ll lose her yet.”

Ashe held his tongue on how certain he felt on the matter now. “I’ll make some tea,” he said, standing and walking to their small kitchen to hide that he was close to tears. He could always be emotional in front of his husband, and both of them had been in such a state many times, but something about seeing the baby had made him realize one day he would have to be strong in such a way-- perhaps after this was over, they could adopt a child. This was confirmation to Ashe that maybe the both of them were meant to be fathers, he thought as he put the kettle on and started the chamomile.

He set down the tray on their end table, holding his own battered clay mug close for the warmth it gave. Dedue was feeding her again, apparently, and she was once again barely awake.

“Do you think that’s a good sign?” asked Ashe.

“She’s still very feverish,” said Dedue. “It could be many things.”

“I see,” said Ashe, sipping the chamomile tea and watching in concern.

“We can’t control this any more than the winds or tides, dear one--”

“So worry does no good.” Ashe nodded. “I know.” He sighed and leaned back, watching the fire crackle. “But it’s hard not to.”

“I understand,” said Dedue, setting down the milk cloth onto the tray and slowly rocking her with one arm, humming quietly. “We’ve done everything we can.”

“But what if it isn’t enough!” Ashe was so frustrated he could cry. Dedue sighed, and leaned forward and put a hand on his knee.

“It’s enough. Look,” he said, holding out the little girl. “She’s very peaceful.”

Ashe took a shaky breath, leaning backwards into the chair. “I know.”

He watched the fire for a few minutes. He and Dedue were always comfortable in quiet, and he was content to sleep now like this. The humming, the tea, the stress of the day lulled Ashe to sleep in the chair, comfortable in his tension.

He dreamed of a little girl of Duscur laughing with two fathers, with a voice full of fire. It was fuzzy, blurred around the edges, a little strange and foreign, but it was a dream. A lovely dream. She had white hair and dark eyes and she was so loved, so strong, and she danced.

He awoke with a blanket over him-- Dedue, he thought lovingly. He glanced over at his husband, still in the chair, fast asleep, a peaceful expression on his face as he cradled the little girl in his arms.

The baby.

Ashe threw off the blanket and dashed to his husband’s side, scooping the baby into his arms, and Dedue stirred in his sleep. He frantically checked if she was alive, and she was breathing steadily, in and out-- and her fever had broken. She still had the rash, her breathing was weak, but her fever had lowered. Her eyes fluttered as he laid a hand over her forehead, then closed again in sleep. He began to weep, rocking her back and forth gratefully. There was no Goddess, no, but something was watching over her. The gods of her ancestors, the gods of the time before Sothis and Seiros and saints. She was, by some strange miracle, alive, and Ashe was snot-nosed crying over the tiny child in his arms.

Dedue stirred awake, reading glasses still on, and his eyes opened wide in alarm. “It will be alright, Ashe.” Dedue took a deep breath and sighed, and Ashe could hear his voice break. “We gave her all we could.”

“No,” said Ashe, “she’s alive. Her fever broke.”

Like a taut wire being cut, Dedue relaxed and sighed, taking off the glasses and sighing, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt. “I see,” he said, half smiling and standing up, an arm around his husband as he wiped the tears off his freckled cheeks. “We have to make sure she’s plenty strong then.”

“I think we could manage it,” said Ashe. “Just for now. We can’t keep her forever.” He smiled down at her little face, bittersweet.

“Might I ask why not?” Dedue’s voice was quiet, but Ashe could hear the adoration, the softness in it.

“We don’t have a cradle. It’s a huge commitment to raise a child. Expensive, too, and we don’t have the time with the inn--”

“We can hire more hands. Business has been wonderful.”

“Where could she sleep?”

“We’ll find her a cradle, but she slept without one last night.”

“She doesn’t have a name.” Ashe sighed and stroked the white hair on her tiny head.

“We ought to give her one. A strong name.” Dedue’s eyes looked distant as he searched for one-- a name, a memory, Ashe didn’t know.

“Beatrice, no, Sophia--”

“Irina.”

Ashe knew that name. It was the name of Dedue’s grandmother. He had heard it in passing, and had asked once a long time ago. Irina. Irina. Irina.

“It’s a strong name,” agreed Ashe. “A little grown up for someone so small.”

“Then we can shorten it for now. She may yet grow into it.”

“Rini?” Ashe liked the sound of that.

“Rini.” Dedue smiled, and the little girl opened her dark blue eyes, wide, at the two loving husbands, waving an unsteady fist up at them. She was still rash covered, dazed, and had a low fever, and still seemed far weaker than she ought to have been. But she was alive, and whole, and she had a family, if that was what they were to be. He liked that thought. A family.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A regular evening in the Duran-Molinaro household after three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept you guys waiting for a month on this shortie, sorry. I'll be adding as I go moving forward since I don't really know how many brief shorts about these two as dads I can write, but I'm just here for a good time! Rini's now three. (By the way, once again, this accompanies a series which includes Mercedes/Leonie. Not required reading, but if that seems out of place, that's why it's mentioned.)

It had been a long, long day, thought Dedue, finally standing up after a few hours of bookkeeping even up in their home, setting aside the papers onto dining table for the next day. New hires were never quite as skillful with the seasonings and flavors as the chefs he and Ashe had trained were, and it meant that he often ended up downstairs in the kitchen correcting their errors, when he needed to spend time with other things.

Namely, other things were Rini.

It was three years and a few weeks more since she had become a permanent member of the Molinaro-Duran family. She was as sweet as they came, delightfully silly, and wonderfully sensitive, and imaginative too. It was like magic. She was so wonderfully smart, almost overnight-- Dedue still thought of her first words (“baba”) as something that had happened only yesterday. But she was so often sick, and weak to the point of real concern for both him and Ashe; on alternate days, they took care of her when she was unwell, which was more common than the alternative.

“Are you done with the order for next week?” Ashe looked up from his book, snugly nestled in an armchair in front of the fireplace. Rain streamed down the dark windows outside; the sun was down but the haze of street lanterns left a low hum of light to help people keep their ways on the stormy night. A low rumble of thunder sounded. They were all already in their comfortable nightclothes and had bathed, and Ashe was nestled under a blanket, but leaving work behind was difficult for Dedue sometimes.

“Not quite,” said Dedue, “but I don’t think anything else productive will be happening tonight.”

“I see,” said Ashe, stretching with a yawn. “You’re finished early. Anything on your mind?”

“I was going to put Rini to bed.” He took off his reading glasses and rubbed at the corners of his eyes. “How was she today?”

“You know, she surprised me this morning.” Ashe leaned over the arm of the chair. “She got out of her bed without help and walked all the way to me.”

“She did?” Dedue’s eyes grew wide. Rini could barely walk on her own at all, let alone get out of bed.

“She wouldn’t let go of me for an hour afterwards, though,” said Ashe, not unfondly. “Poor little one. It tired her out something terrible, I think. And she always feels worse in the rain.”

“How did she eat today?” Dedue furrowed his brow.

“A little less than usual, but I’m not worried. I think she’s just picky. She said something about hating milk. I think she’ll be over it in a week.”

“Likely,” agreed Dedue. “We’ll humor her, in any case.”

“She’s impossible to say no to,” said Ashe, a dimpled smile on his face as he went back to his reading. “You should probably put her to sleep soon. She’ll certainly stay up doing gods know what if you don’t.”

“Ah, of course,” said Dedue, standing up and stretching. “I fondly remember the time she used her paints to turn the wall above her bed into a masterpiece because she simply was bored of waiting.”

“I swear I found paint in her hair the other day,” said Ashe with a light laugh. “Give her my love.”

“Of course,” said Dedue, knocking then opening the door to their daughter’s small room. The white wood walls matched the rest of the apartment, but tacked to them were watercolor paintings, some more abstract than others. A sprawl of blankets was strewn over her too large bed, and there was a wooden chair where both he and Ashe had both fallen asleep plenty of times. Rain pounded against the heavy window, carved with little flowers along the frame, and Irina sat, having wrapped herself in blankets, watching the rain, with her only doll (a baby with a painted face and cloth body) in her hand as she hummed.

“Hi, baba,” she said in her soft, low voice. “Is it bedtime?”

“Just about,” he said, sitting down beside her on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m showing her the rain,” said Rini contentedly, holding up the doll to the windowsill for a moment before pulling it back close. 

“I see,” said Dedue.

“She says she doesn’t like it. But it’s kay, because we’re s’posed to stay inside like you say. So the rain never gets in the house, and we’re safe.” She yawned and set aside the doll, leaning against Dedue’s side. “When will I go outside? I wanna.”

“We all went out to the market last week when you felt well,” said Dedue as Rini crawled into his lap, flopping and looking up at him with those dark blue eyes of hers.

“I don’t want to go tothemarket,” she said, stringing the last words into one breath. “I wanna go tea party. Like the window girls.”

“The window girls?” asked Dedue.

“They...they’re the girls who run outside the window in the mornings and then, I can see them in the windows at night down the street. They have tea parties and play princess. I can tell, ‘cause they do the curtsy and make the crowns out of flowers like in the stories. When can I play with them?”

“Ah,” said Dedue. The neighbors down the street-- two little girls, it had to be the tailor’s daughters. They did, indeed, often have tea, though it was usually hot water with a few mashed fruits thrown in. “Rini, that’s a difficult question.”

“Why?” She sighed and slouched against his arm, white hair bunching against his shirt.

“You get sick so easily,” he said, wrapping the same arm around her gently. “Your papa and I, when you were far littler, used to try very hard to bring you outside and downstairs with us. But most of the time, it only made you sicker.”

“But…” She sighed. “But I’m always sick. Always always. ‘Cept for last week. For ten billion million thousand years.”

“Irina Christine Duran Molinaro,” he said, with his dad voice fully inflected, “you are three.”

“I’m an old lady!” she laughed, wrinkling her nose happily. “Ten zillion thousand million. More than all the stars in the sky.”

“Well, what does that make me?” Dedue ruffled her hair gently, her milk-white hair sticking out at a strange angle.

“Even older,” she said. “What’s older than old...Ank-chent.”

“Ancient?” Dedue barely kept himself from laughing. He wasn’t even thirty two yet. “Well, if you say so.”

“I do.” She nodded firmly. “I also say I want a story tonight.”

“A story, hm?” Dedue stood, tidying the blankets into one neat layer cake of warmth and scooping Ismene under it, then sitting back down beside her. “What kind?”

“Papa likes the ones about knights,” she said thoughtfully, reaching for her doll and pulling it tightly back into her arms. “But yours are all...they make me feel...sad but a good sad.”

“Sad in a good way.” Dedue sighed and thought about that. One day she would be mature enough to understand more about everything-- Duscur and the sorrow they both would carry with that loss, and the haunting memories of war both of her fathers bore. “I see. What sort of story would you like to hear, starlight?” It was a nickname they’d picked up for her, one that made her smile every time.

“I dunno.” She tried to push herself upright under the blankets with effort, and he helped her.

“Well, I have a story my mama used to tell me when it rained. Maybe, it could help you feel better tonight.”

“Mhm,” she said, reaching up her tiny hand as Dedue took it in his own. “Tell me.”

“A long time ago,” he started, as he usually did, “in lands far away from here, there lived old, long gods. These gods all spoke like us people, but we couldn’t hear their words as words like ours. It was when the wind blew,” and Irina made the whoosh noise like she always did when he said that, since he started many stories in such a way, “and the waves were on the shore.” She made a sound...quite unlike that of waves on the shore, a tch-tch-tch-- but Irina had never seen the ocean, so she couldn’t be faulted for that.

“The sun god and his wife, the ocean, were very, very happy together, and had many children. Some of them lived on islands, some of them swam with the fish, and still more liked to dance on the wind. Their youngest children were a boy and a girl, twins, Hama and Egel. Hama was very sick, and Egel was her only friend, since her sisters couldn’t dance and run with her.”

“Was she like me?” Rini squeezed his hand-- oh, hers were so fragile, he thought, with so little strength behind them; he ought to have been used to this by now.

“A little,” he said. “Egel loved her, but he liked to run with his brothers, and he was faster than all of them. Wherever he ran, sparks would follow in his footsteps. One night, their mother came home and saw that Egel was no longer with his sister, and she shouted for him to come home. She said to him, my son, you will know many friends, but you and your sister came into this world together, and nobody will understand you as the two of you understand each other. She cannot run as you can, and she wants your company.”

“Their mother decided that in their great castle in the sky that their father had built them, she would make a guardian, a beautiful bird, to make sure Egel never left his sister. The bird was strong and careful, but Hama and Egel both soon were very tired of being always together, and it broke Egel’s heart not to run. So Hama would gather the dew every morning and brew it into a sleeping drought. It took her a long time, and she had to be secret, hiding from her father and mother. As soon as it was finished, she fed it to the bird, and when the bird fell asleep, Egel was free. He ran and ran for the first time in a long time, sparks flying through the sky. To hide him from their mother’s sight, Hama made a curtain of rain, and he could run as much as he wanted. She yelled for him, cheering for him whenever he was fast, and she would call to warn him. It takes Hama a long time to gather enough dew to make the guardian sleep. But to watch him run brings her great joy, and she loves to shout for him. And that is what makes the thunder and lightning and rain.”

“Mmm,” said Rini, sliding back under her covers. “So it isn’t scary.” She smiled, and Dedue pushed her hair back.

“No, starlight. It isn’t scary.” He kissed her forehead and tucked her covers around her.

“Can you sing?” She gave him the sad eyes. They always worked. He knelt beside her bed, holding her hand as it poked out of the blankets.

It was an old Duscur lullaby. His sister had once sang it to her son, and their mother had sang to her children. Rini didn’t know the language, but he knew she liked the sound. It was sad and quiet, and he lowered his voice, singing in a language he had known long before he had known any other.

_“Wind, wind, sea of my dreams,  
Bring my dear one home to my arms,  
They’ve left the comfort of my bed,  
And are now sailing on other waves._

_Wind, wind, song of my soul,  
They’ve given me only sorrow,  
But let them have joy at your mercy,  
And let me sail on other waves.”_

Rini’s eyes had drifted closed. Dedue squeezed her hand. “We love you, starlight,” he said, and then closed the door silently, the tiny click of the brass knob the only sound.

“She’s asleep?” asked Ashe, setting down his mug of tea.

“She is,” said Dedue, sinking into the armchair by the fire. “That was the fastest she’s gone to sleep in weeks.”

“Do you think tomorrow will be a bad day?” Steam wafted out of the mug that Ashe sipped from. “Usually when she’s this tired it isn’t a good sign. I just want to be prepared in case tomorrow is hard.”

“It’s impossible to tell,” said Dedue, putting on his reading glasses. “Does she seem...sad, to you?”

“Sad how?” Ashe furrowed his brow in worry. “She’s always so excitable, and creative--”

“But she has no friends her age. You and I are her entire world. She must be lonely.”

“Oh.” Ashe rubbed the back of his neck in thought. “I guess she would be, wouldn’t she? We could invite the neighbors to visit, or maybe bring her downstairs more often, but I think that would really tire her out and make things worse.”

“It may,” agreed Dedue, “but I also think it would make her very happy.”

“We can try to work something out tomorrow then,” said Ashe. “Do you want me to bring you some tea?”

“Thank you, yes,” said Dedue. “Have you written back to Leonie yet?”

“No,” said Ashe, “not quite yet. I’m not sure what to say to her, really! It’s been such a long time since she and I spoke to each other.”

“That’s true,” agreed Dedue. “I haven’t seen her since…” Ashe put the warm mug in his hands.

“I know. And she wants to see us again at their wedding, and it’s a surprise for Mercedes. She mentioned that it hasn’t been easy for them for all these years, either. Maybe we should go.”

“We’ll need someone to take care of Rini,” said Dedue as he took a sip of tea.

“It’s alright. We can write to my sister. She’s great with Rini.”

“That’s right,” said Dedue, “I just worry about her travelling all the way from Gaspard.”

“She’ll be fine,” Ashe said. “I wouldn’t worry too much about her. Besides, the roads have been pretty safe lately. I’ve heard that all the new ways they’re governing with protections locally has helped. When will you meet with Claude about the reparations and land repatriations again?”

“It’s in two months.” Dedue sipped the last of his tea. “I must admit I trust his intentions, but at times, I do question his methods. If you recall, I’m technically meeting with his husband, at his request, with him in accompaniment.”

“Well,” said Ashe with a smile, “I think that’s just the way those two do things. I wonder if they think we’re strange for up and vanishing from all of that the second we could.”

“If it’s strange,” said Dedue, straight faced, “then I would never care to be normal.”

Ashe laughed and grabbed both of their mugs, taking them to the kitchen. “I think I’m going to head to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

Ashe smiled over his shoulder as he closed their bedroom door, and Dedue blew out all of the candles and lanterns in their home and stirred the fireplace down to ember. The room was dark but for the streetlights outside the window.

He sat pensively in the bay window seat. Lightning cracked across the sky, fracturing it for a moment in bright violet-white.

Storms at home, in Duscur, were more violent than this, but easier on the nerves. They had felt that way, at least. Perhaps the rosy gaze of his childhood had made it harder to remember such feelings properly. But he remembered that he had once known places that were dark, properly dark at night. He remembered the call of the ocean, the song that slept within every piece of steel. It was rainy nights where he felt this way most often. But it was better to distract himself with fragmented, warm memories of Duscur, than it was to think of the war again.

What could he explain to Irina about who the both of them were? There were things for her that were easy to grasp; she knew she was different in some ways, and surely if she were to spend more time in Fhirdiad’s streets, she would grow to learn the way Fodlan looked at outsiders, even if it was starting to change. But he didn’t want her to experience the ache that such a thing would come with. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to share what it was to be Duscur, to dance, to laugh, to make music, to love-- with his daughter. But to share that would mean that he had to share all of the pain that came with it. She wasn’t ready for that. One day, she would be-- but not now.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to Leonie and Mercedes’s wedding. He cared deeply for Mercedes. She was one of the kindest, most considerate people he had ever met, and he loved her friendship. He had never known Leonie well; that was Ashe’s sphere of influence. But the memories seeing them again would bring back would ache terribly. But he could bear that. He could bear to see them smile again, to be there when they wanted his company, especially for Mercedes. He had never properly said goodbye to her.

Dedue stood and stretched his shoulders as he watched another bolt of lightning cross the sky. It was late. He ought to get to sleep.

With a low creak, he opened he and Ashe’s bedroom door. Ashe was awake, reading something by candlelight, and Dedue sighed, abandoning his slippers on the floor. Their room was cozy, filled with knit blankets and quilts, and a large rug that Ashe swore he had gotten a great deal on. It was small and tight, but it didn’t need to have any sprawl.

“Are you feeling alright?” asked Ashe, who could read him like a book.

“Tonight’s simply been a night for thinking.” He sat down on his side of the bed, and slid under the covers, head against Ashe’s side.

“I see,” said Ashe, blowing out the candle and setting down his book, and sliding beside him, an arm over Dedue’s shoulder. “You know I can always listen, my love.”

“I know,” said Dedue. “I worry too much.”

“Don’t dismiss things like that,” said Ashe, idly running his fingers through his husband’s hair, along the shaved portions of his scalp. “I’m sure whatever you’re worried about is completely reasonable.”

“It’s Irina. I worry about her health, of course, but I think often about how to explain our heritage to her in a way she could understand one day.”

Ashe paused. “It’s not something I think I could understand the same way. But I know you tell her stories, and most of what we cook at home is Duscurian food. She knows little words and rituals, like the blessing on the doorframe. And maybe one day, all of these little pieces will add up. I think she’ll have questions, but you can help her answer them herself. She’s smart. And she’ll know who she is.”

“Do you think so?” asked Dedue.

“Mhm,” said Ashe, his voice low and musical and drowsy. He yawned. “We can talk more about replying to all these letters of ours tomorrow. Tonight, I think rain on the roof is the nicest noise lullaby we could get.”

“Ashe?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Ashe leaned down and kissed Dedue’s forehead. “I love you too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep saying i won't write much more of this then i keep coming back!!!! wow!

It was late in the evening, a sunny summer day, and Ashe was scrubbing pots. Burnished copper met by abrasive bristles and suds, he was lost in thought and nerves, looking out the apartment window. He and Dedue had taken the day off, and Rosemary had agreed to man the kitchen of the inn while Mace ran the customer service. Of the three Duran siblings, Mace had always been the most sociable, anyways.

“Papa,” said Irina from Dedue’s chair in front of the fireplace, “when’s Baba going to be home?”

“Soon,” said Ashe, who had dinner for the three of them and their two guests just warming in the oven. “He went out to help Aunt Leonie and Aunt Mercie find their way to us.”

“I wanted to show him my paintings,” she groaned, stretching out.

“You can show them to him when he gets home,” said Ashe, setting two of the pots out to dry. “It won’t be long, Rini.”

“But when he gets home Aunt Leonie and Aunt Mercie are going to be here,” she sighed, “and they’re going to talk about grown up things and I am just going to have to go to bed and nobody will ever see my paintings, ever.”

“I’m sure they’d all like to see your paintings,” said Ashe. “What did you paint today?”

“I,” she said proudly, “painted the birds in Baba’s stories. He said there’s big ones, like big red kites and green ones and yellow ones. Can you come see them?”

“In a second, starlight,” said Ashe, rinsing the pan and setting it onto the drying rack. “I’m still cleaning up the dishes.”

“How much longer?” Rini sighed.

“Two seconds,” Ashe said.

“One…” Rini counted. Ashe laughed and set down a pot.

“Two!” said Ashe, standing over the back of the chair, looking down at Irina, where she was bundled in blankets, holding onto sheets of paper.

“Papa,” she said, “I was supposed to count!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Ashe. “That bird on top, it looks very good.”

“Mhm,” she agreed with a bright, cheery smile on her face. “It’s supposed to be the bird that brings the sun in the morning. Baba told me about it.”

“He’s very good at telling you stories, isn’t he?” Ashe gave a tired smile and sat down in the opposite chair.

“He is,” said Rini. “Baba tells my favorite stories of all. I can’t wait to get a book of all of the stories he tells, a great big one like the ones you read.” She pulled up the blankets on her lap, putting the drawings back on the side table.

“I wish we could find them for you, starlight,” said Ashe. “While we wait for dinner, do you want me to bring you some tea?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Peppermint?”

“Always,” said Ashe, standing and putting on the kettle.

“Thank you, Papa.” She slumped lower in the chair. “When can Valeria and Melena come over again? Mel said their mama would make my baby doll new clothes.”

“Whenever your aunts are gone.” Ashe walked back to the chair, waiting for the kettle to whistle.

“What are Aunt Mercedes and Aunt Leonie like?”

“I’ve told you all the stories about them,” said Ashe. “Aunt Leonie is brave and strong and fierce, and Aunt Mercedes is very kind and courageous and gentle.”

“But are they fun?” asked Rini.

“Well, they were the last time I saw them.” Ashe smiled.

“Will they like me?” She sounded almost sad-- and suddenly, Ashe thought about how horribly insecure little Irina probably was. Her life was sheltered, and such a worry likely seemed reasonable to her.

“Of course they will. They’ll love you.” Ashe beamed at her and reached over to ruffle her long white hair. “You’re our little girl. And you paint such lovely birds. There’s nobody in this world who wouldn’t love you.”

“You say that, ‘cuz you have to. Dads have to be nice.”

“Where is that written?” The tea kettle whistled, and Ashe stood to pour their two cups. As he dumped the garden wastebin, the steps creaked and the apartment door clicked open, and Dedue walked in, Leonie and Mercedes both behind him.

“Baba!” Rini beamed as Dedue picked her up out of the chair into a bear hug, her arms as tight around him as she could manage, as small as she was. “I missed you!”

“I’ll make more tea,” said Ashe. “Mercedes! Leonie!” Ashe beamed at them both. “It’s good to see you two.”

“You too, Ashe,” said Leonie. “Whoo, what a trip.”

“It was a lovely journey this time of year,” said Mercedes. “Pay no mind to Leonie’s complaining.”

“Come on,” she grinned.

“Well, I’m glad you made it here safely. Sit down, sit down,” said Ashe. “Dedue, I already have dinner ready.”

“Thank you,” said Dedue. “I wish I could have helped.”

“It’s fine,” said Ashe, reaching for a potholder as he pulled the baked squash and vegetables from the oven. “I hope you’re all hungry.”

“Starving,” said Leonie. “Ashe, Dedue, both of you. I miss your cooking every day.”

“I’m flattered.” Dedue picked up Irina, carrying her as Ashe and Dedue both often did, and setting her down in her usual seat at the dinner table.

“I haven’t met you before,” said Mercedes with her moonglow, motherly smile from the seat beside Rini. “I’m Mercedes.” She held out her hand to shake, and Rini shook it, then shied away from Mercedes.

“I’m Irina Christine Duran-Molinaro.” She cleared her throat. “Or Rini.”

“What a wonderful name!” Mercedes smiled. “Do we bless our food?” she asked, glancing to Ashe.

“We do, but we all do it in our own ways,” said Ashe. “However you feel comfortable!”

Leonie already had her fork out.

~<>~

Dinnertime conversation was perhaps the quietest that Dedue had ever seen Irina. She had been in poor health for the last day or so, and that often led to her ins and outs of energy, with gusts and billows of exhaustion and enthusiasm, but he thought that had little to do with it. She was nervous. As the praise for dinner fizzled into conversation, and that burnt into the after dinner conversations of adults over tea and pastries, Irina had been quite alone.

“We’ve been talking about mailing Claude the seeds, but I’m not sure he’ll know what to do with them!” said Ashe, and Leonie laughed. 

“Oh, man, he was always bad at garden duty.”

“Irina,” said Dedue, leaning over as the conversation continued, “maybe you should show them your birds.”

“Can you go get them for me?” She looked up at him with pleading, eager eyes.

“Of course.” He quietly stood from the table and retrieved her sheets of paintings, handing them to her.

Irina cleared her throat and sat a little straighter, and Ashe glanced at her with a smile. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “can I show you my paintings?”

“Why, of course!” Mercedes smiled. “Which one would you like to show us?”

“All of them,” said Irina, distributing the sheets around the table. “That,” she said, pointing to the birds on Mercedes’s paper, “is a seabird. They fly over the ocean and they eat fish and they come in all shapes and sizes.”

“You really love birds, don’t you?” said Leonie with a smile. “These are really good drawings! Better than anything I ever did, especially when I was your age.”

“I love birds,” said Irina. “They fly, and they have feathers and great big wings and they can go anywhere.” She beamed. “They’re so pretty.”

“I’ll give these back then,” said Mercedes. “You’re a very good artist. Keep practicing!” Irina nodded and yawned.

“Dedue, can you get her off to bed?” asked Ashe, who was gathering up empty mugs and plates.

“Of course,” said Dedue.

“But I’m not tired!” said Irina.

“It’s past your bedtime.” Dedue knelt down beside her and she sighed. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Mhm,” said Rini, reaching her arms out as Dedue scooped her easily. “I don’t want to go to sleep, though.”

“You need rest, starlight,” said Dedue, opening her bedroom door. “Do you know, when I was your age, I was excited to go to sleep?”

“That’s dumb,” said Irina. “I think being six is old enough to never have a bedtime.”

“Being six means you certainly need a bedtime.” Dedue set her down on her bed, and she pulled up her own blankets, her messy heap of stuffed animals and pillows making half of the bed entirely unusable.

“Why would you be excited to go to sleep?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Well, when I was a little boy in Duscur, my sister and I would work all through the day. We had goats to chase around, we had to help our mama cook, and we would run all over the town helping other people and getting into trouble. We were tired at the end of every day.”

“Can we get a goat?” Rini’s eyes grew wide.

“Where would we keep it?” Dedue asked thoughtfully.

“The garden?” offered Irina.

“If a goat were to eat your father and I’s herb garden, I don’t think either of us would be very happy.” Dedue frowned.

“The roof!”

“Maybe.” Dedue smiled. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Baba,” began Irina, “why did they come to visit us? Aunt Mercedes and Aunt Leonie?”

“Aunt Mercedes is a very good healer.” Dedue smoothed her hair, wishing he had remembered to braid it as usual to avoid tangles at night. “She might be able to help you not be sick anymore.”

“Oh,” said Irina. “Does she do the praying where it makes me feel better? Like you?”

“It’s different for her,” said Dedue, bending down and kissing her forehead. “But she will try her best. I need you to go to sleep.”

“Good night, Baba. I love you.”

“I love you too, starlight.”

“Tell Papa I love him too.”

“I will,” said Dedue.

“And Aunt Mercedes and Aunt Leonie.”

“Of course.” Dedue smiled. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

He shut the door behind him, sitting back down at the table.

“She’s a brilliant little girl. You have both done a wonderful job as fathers.” Mercedes smiled. “I wish you had asked us to visit sooner.”

“Not to intrude, though,” said Leonie. “She seems pretty sharp.”

“She is,” said Ashe. “She’s very sharp. Smart and creative and just about as fierce as they come.”

“She’s had to be,” said Mercedes, softening. “You know, I feel rather badly that all of this time, I knew-- you wrote to me three years ago, you talked about her at the wedding...but I didn’t come see if I could help until now.”

“It’s nothing to beat yourself up over, Mercedes,” said Ashe. “We didn’t invite you, either, in fairness. Not that we didn’t want you to come! But we’ve been really busy, and it’s only now that my siblings are going to start taking over that we have the time for you to visit.”

“Ashe, it’s fine,” said Leonie. “We get it. And you two are doing great. She couldn’t ask for better dads.”

“We do our best.” Dedue sighed. “It’s hard. And it’s getting harder.”

“That’s why I came,” said Mercedes. “I would help you both in a heartbeat. I think of you both as my family.”

“You know we could never repay you for this, Mercedes,” said Ashe. “Really, if you help her, even just a little bit, it would make her world.”

“I hope I can.” Mercedes smiled. “Perhaps you could start by explaining in greater depth than your letter what ails her?”

“Oh, Mercie,” sighed Leonie. “Get out a notepad, boys--” and Leonie was cut off by Mercedes’s affectionate elbow to her side.

“She’s been sick ever since we adopted her.” Ashe paused. “I know you remember the scarlatina outbreak six years ago, we talked about it. It hit Fhirdiad hard. She just never really recovered all the way, we think. She was too weak for solid food until she was almost a year old. It was really hard. She didn’t learn to walk till eighteen months, either, and she still struggles with it on her bad days.”

“What are her bad days like?” asked Mercedes patiently. Dedue could see the lists flashing behind her eyes, the unraveling puzzle behind her gentle demeanor.

“You caught a half of one.” Dedue rested an elbow on the table. “She can barely walk. She sleeps most of the day. She’s fainted before. At times, her hands or legs will swell, and her nails sometimes turn gray. She doesn’t eat. She has trouble breathing.”

“And...you’ve taken her to other healers?” asked Mercedes, leaning in further on the table.

“Five or six. Nothing’s really helped.” Ashe shook his head. “They’ve all said nothing could be done.”

“I see,” said Mercedes. “How often does she catch seasonal illnesses? Things like coughs or itchy throats?”

“Only two times,” said Dedue. “We’re very careful.”

“I see,” said Mercedes. “May I be completely honest with the both of you?” Her soft morning-glory eyes had that spark of compassion in them that Dedue could remember well from their academy days.

“Please.” Dedue reached under the table for Ashe’s hand. They met, warm and gentle and firm, and Ashe squeezed his hand.

“I doubt there is a thing that I could do for her.” Mercedes pushed a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear. “I mean that in the kindest way. But this is an ailment I’ve seen a few times before in adults, and never in little ones. There’s no injury or sickness.”

“What could be wrong?” asked Ashe, thumb stroking the back of Dedue’s hand.

“Recent books about healing suggest a malady of the heart,” said Mercedes. “The muscles may be...malformed, or perhaps, weak. It may have been illness that weakened her so young, or perhaps she was born with such a defect.”

“So there’s nothing we can do?” said Dedue, eyes almost brimming with tears.

“I can try,” said Mercedes. “I am a passable healer.” She giggled. “And, of course, if I am right-- and I just may be-- there’s ways to help alleviate her troubles. She may be weak like this for all of her life, but both of you know herbal medicine. Some plain counsel on what she needs will go miles! On top of plain things like simple exercise and fresh air and a good diet with plenty of water.”

“Believe me, she’s well fed,” said Ashe with a smile. “There’s other news we’ve been meaning to tell you two, though. It just slips my mind when I get to writing letters…”

“We’re moving out of Fhirdiad.” Dedue took a sip of his after-dinner tea. “To be specific, we’re moving to Duscur.”

“You are?” Leonie sounded excited. “That’s great news! Who’s going to take over the Maplebow?”

“My siblings have been here training to work in the kitchen and manage it. Rosemary and Mace will be taking it over. We were going to open a smaller inn, in Duscur.” Ashe smiled. “We told Rini, of course, but I don’t think she really grasps it yet.”

“What a long way to move,” said Mercedes, eyes wide. “I’m sure it will be a positive change for all of you. When are you planning to move?”

“Within this coming winter.” Dedue smiled. “It seemed like the right time.”

“I would bet you that it is.” Mercedes reached her hands across the table, and Dedue and Ashe each took one. “You are both such strong people. Stronger than you should have ever had to be. I want you both to promise me something.”

“Mercie--” started Ashe.

“Promise me you will take care of yourselves. Both of you give so much.” She squeezed their hands. “I know what it’s like to feel like other people need you more than anything in this world. Your daughter is both of your entire worlds. You both throw yourselves into helping people as much as you can. There is a great deal to commend about that. But you also need to make time for yourselves. You have both been through too many hardships to ignore your own pain.”

“There is no need to lecture us, Mercedes,” said Dedue.

“Then promise me.” Leonie put her hand on Mercedes’s shoulder while her wife continued. “Promise me you will take care of yourselves.”

“We promise,” Ashe reassured her. “Do you want me to make some more tea?”

“It’s alright,” said Leonie. “I was gonna turn in early. You two have been great.” Leonie stood and grabbed Mercedes’s coat and their bag from the side of the room, her fiery hair bright in the lamplight. “We’ll see you in the morning, right?”

“Of course,” said Dedue. “Good night, ladies.”

“Lady?” Leonie snorted. “First time I’ve been called that in a while.”

“Last week, dear,” said Mercedes, wrinkling her nose playfully at her as they both headed down the stairs to their room in the inn.

Dedue and Ashe stayed up discussing the future late into the night. The moon was set, the stars were out, and they both sipped their way through two pots of tea before finally heading to sleep.

Dedue woke up around what he assumed was four in the morning. Ashe was sound asleep, his hair a cowlicked mess as he used most of the blankets. Another bad dream. He stood and rolled out of bed, then tiptoed through the apartment downstairs to the back garden.

It was where he went on nights like this. The garden was where he prayed; it was once an offshoot of the alley behind the Maplebow, but he had lifted the cobblestones, filled in with compost and soil, built a low rock wall, and planted vegetables, flowers, even a little peach tree and stone bench. It was open to guests at the inn, but it was barely the size of one room; guests never visited. He opened the back door to the garden, where it looked over the terraced alleyway-- and found that Leonie was perched on the wall. Her legs were dangling over the sides, and she was looking up at the sky in her yellow nightdress, but she was obviously present and awake.

Dedue was not sure what to say to her. He had never been close to Leonie; there was a great deal he respected about her from a distance, but he didn’t know her personally. What he did do is sit down on the stone bench.

“Your garden is really pretty.” Leonie turned around on the wall, swinging her legs back over. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” said Dedue.

“Me neither. I get bad dreams. Weird feelings. Mercedes, too, now and then. The war was really hard on her.” Leonie leaned back.

“She is too kind of a soul for killing others.” Dedue pushed back a few white strands of hair.

“I don’t think that’s it,” said Leonie. “Not that she’s not nice! She’s plenty sweet.” She smiled. “But Mercedes is… she bears pain with plenty of dignity. You’re like her, that way. When things are hard, both of you simply survive it and push on. I respect that a lot! But it led her to some bad places emotionally. I know that still hurts her. I listen when she talks, and I encourage her to tell me what she really feels, but she pens it up a lot of the time still. That’s why she worries about you, you know. She’s afraid you’ve got the same bad habits she does.”

“You’re very talented at worrying about her,” said Dedue.

“What can I say?” Leonie smiled.

“The two of you continue to surprise me.” He watched her for a moment. “Why are you awake?”

“I get nervous more easily at night for the past few years. Not nightmares, just...tense, I guess.” She looked down at the street. “I stopped drinking, and ever since it’s just been harder to sleep.”

“Was it when you married Mercedes?” asked Dedue.

“It was, but there was a lot more than just her to it.” She shrugged. “You?”

“Bad dreams and worries.” He glanced back at her. “There are plenty of those.”

“I bet.” Leonie sighed. “About everything back then-- you know, I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” Dedue tilted his head.

“The war. I...I might have shot at you once.” She bit her tongue. “I’ve apologized to a lot of people for that, and if anyone deserves it most, you know it’s you.”

“Leonie, pointing a bow at me fourteen years ago does not require an apology today.”

“I mean, sure, but I’m still going to say I’m sorry!” She grinned. “It’s just the way I’m trying to do things.”

“Thank you.” Dedue rubbed his neck. “I apologize, this is slightly awkward. You’re better friends with my husband than you are me.”

“Ashe and I just go back, is all. That doesn’t mean we aren’t ever going to be friends. You know,” she said. “I wish we had spent more time together back then. I feel badly that we didn’t. I knew how hard some of the things you were going through were, and I was just a selfish kid.”

Dedue frowned at that. A half of him wanted to know if Leonie really knew-- truly understood what Garreg Mach had been like for him, and another half of him did wish they had been friends, and if that would have changed a thing. “Sometimes things turn out the way they do so that there are other chances other days.”

“There’s something Jeralt used to say to me when I was really little.” Leonie tilted her head. “When a door closes, there’s a window that opens.” She sighed. “Tomorrow you know Mercedes is going to give her all for Irina, right? She’s been worried this entire trip.”

“What prompted that?” asked Dedue.

“Well-- if maybe she can’t heal her, if maybe there’s no chance of Irina ever getting better, right? Look for the window.” She smiled. “It’s always there.”

Dedue shook his head. “You’re not a parent, are you?”

“Not yet.” Leonie scooted closer to the tree. “Mercedes and I have talked about it, though.”

“You would both be good mothers.” Dedue glanced up at her.

“You don’t have to be nice, you know,” she said.

Dedue wondered if she really did know at all, that he always had to be nice, or else the worst would be assumed of him. “It was a compliment, Leonie.”

“Alright, alright.” She nudged his shoulder. “You’re both really good dads. I know people probably say that all the time, but I can tell how much you love your daughter. You’re the kinds of parents kids deserve.” She sighed. “Mercedes misses you both so much.”

“We should come to visit more often.” Dedue sighed.

“No, we should. We’re a lot more flexible.” She shook her head. “That isn’t on you guys. You have a kid to take care of. We’ll visit you all more when you’re in Duscur, too.”

“That is a long journey, Leonie.” Dedue raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll manage. I always liked horseback riding anyways. Peachpit can use the exercise.” She stretched and stood up. “I’m going to go back to bed.”

“Good night.” Dedue stretched and opened the door for the both of them, and walked back to bed.

“Where were you,” muttered a half awake Ashe as Dedue wrapped his arm around him.

“Garden,” he said, kissing Ashe’s cheek. “Go back to sleep, my love.”

“Mhm,” said Ashe.

The sun rose with Dedue, and he began making breakfast. Spiced rice porridge, eggs, hot tea. Perhaps he hadn’t slept much. But love was a good breakfast with family. The pot steamed on the stove, the kettle whistled, and he set out the three plates and bowls. Ashe got out of bed, leaning against Dedue from behind and pouring tea with a drowsy “good morning.”

“I’ll get Irina up,” said Dedue, bringing the porridge to a simmer, and Ashe nodded. He had once been a morning person, thought Dedue with a smile-- those days were long gone. He pushed open their daughter’s bedroom door and knocked on the wood.

“Irina,” he said softly. “Good morning, starlight.”

“Baba,” she muttered, sitting upright in bed. “Good morning. Carry me to breakfast?” She held out her arms, and as Dedue scooped her up out of bed, he couldn’t help but think about how a hundred doors had closed, but a thousand more had opened after all these years. He had friends, a husband he loved, a daughter he treasured, a beautiful garden, and a good breakfast waiting for him every morning. What more could he have asked for?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things before we hit the good stuff. The first is: please, please, donate to bail funds and relief funds for protesters. This is one of the most important times in America's modern history. Black lives matter, and allies, help in any way that you can. Sign petitions, get involved locally, donate to bail and relief funds, and if you can't donate, there are playlists and websites that allow you to add views to advertisements, from which the proceeds will be donated. (link here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM&feature=youtu.be ). Every little bit helps.
> 
> Secondly, I wept hysterically for about an hour last week when @ Geniusgen3 on Twitter drew art related to this fic. I have never been so moved and touched in my life. Thank you so, so much: it's brilliant! Here's the link!  
> https://twitter.com/Geniusgen3/status/1264617830206582788

The sun rose a silver-white in the ethereal moon sky, puffy pillows overhead illuminated to a gentle gray. Snow had fallen in the night; in a few weeks, Dedue knew the mountains would likely be impassable, but the family was beyond them now. Fhirdiad was behind, and now, they were in Duscur. The plains were low, and stretched all the way to the coast: rolling hills and valleys covered in trees that were only then beginning to frost. Along the path, a few of the stragglers of autumn wildflowers stood proud, no matter how brief their life would be.

The night before, they had pitched their tent for the final time, fifty meters off the road in a clearing. The low, small wagon and the horse that Ashe had left once in the care of an old friend (Sylvain had bid them good-bye all those weeks ago) were at rest beside them, and Dedue had restoked Ashe’s campfire from the night before. Fresh fallen snow in the night had covered a few of the stones in the ring, but it was little hindrance when the crackling pine sparked back to life. With one of the cast iron pans, Dedue had begun a breakfast for the three of them-- simple quick hot fried dough, spiced and lightly sweetened, and tea for all of them.

“Good morning,” said Dedue as Ashe pushed open the heavy, waxed canvas tent door and poked his head out into the snow.

“You were up early.” He stretched, still half inside the warm tent, and walked to the side of the campfire, holding his bare hands to the fire. “Today’s the day?”

“It should be, if we make good time.” Dedue sighed with a smile. “It’s been such a long time.”

“Are you nervous?” asked Ashe, and Dedue nudged the skillet further into the hot coals.

“Not particularly.” He couldn’t deny the tremor in his heart, the fear of old, painful memories or unwelcome change. But undeniable also was the anticipation, the welcome warmth of familiarity, the feeling of not being alone in quite the same way any longer.

“You seem excited,” said Ashe, beaming as he held his chapped fingers closer to the fire. “Breakfast smells delicious.”

“If you are trying to schmooze me,” said Dedue with a witty grin, “it isn’t going to work.”

“You always see right through me!” Ashe winked, standing and kissing Dedue’s cheek. “I’ll get Irina up and dressed. We should get on the road as soon as we can.” 

“Make sure you dress her warmly,” said Dedue-- they had found out the hard way that she was susceptible to cold in their first week of travelling.

“I know,” said Ashe, pushing open the tent. “You have to dress warmer, too.” And like that, Ashe had closed the tent with that reminder. Dedue poked at the dough, sizzling in the butter. He was lost in thought. This entire journey to their new home had felt surreal to him, as if it was a dream that he had once dreamed years ago. It was very real. Dreams were not full of things you could touch, fluffy snow and wildflowers your mother had sung you the name of when you were only just learning the tune. But the thought of returning here after the end of the war had been so distant to him. He had always prioritized other people-- first it was recovery after Enbarr, then, it was taking care of the political arrangements and bereavements, getting Claude’s ducks into a row with him in Fhirdiad and cleaning out the old. Then it was Ashe, the dance of the two of them and the life they had started, and then Rini, and before he knew it, more than a decade had gone by. He had written letters with distant family that had survived, or old friends, too-- but there was never again a time where he had been able to visit. Even now, it was a half of a shot in the dark, a hope that where Dedue could remember smoke, there would be fire. Maybe, come spring, he would know.

“Baba,” said Irina, bounding out into the snow, “I look like a seal. I look stupid.” She was wearing three coats, boots, thermal heavy wool pants, scarves, and layered two hats over one another, with bulky mittens Dedue himself had knitted long ago for her birthday in the winter.

“You have never seen a seal, Irina,” he said, poking her nose that was already turning runny with the cold.

“I’ve seen drawings of them in books,” she said proudly. “I know they’re round.”

“They’re very loud too,” said Dedue, and Irina flopped onto the ground with a big smile, only partly hidden by her scarf.

“You’ve seen seals?” asked Rini, tucked fiercely into her scarf.

“Mhm,” said Dedue. “And soon, you will too. Maybe even today.”

“Today?” Her eyes grew wide. “The ocean’s a billion miles away, Baba.”

“No,” said Dedue. “It’s only maybe fifteen miles.”

“It’s so close.” She counted on her fingers, under her mittens. “Five threes.” Dedue and Ashe had been teaching her simple calculating, and the finger trick seemed to be a good method for her.

“Mhm,” said Dedue, using an ungloved hand to pluck out the little dough balls and put them in a ceramic bowl. Rini received it in a mittened hand, and took off one mitten to hold the greasy, sweet fried dough.

“So we’re going to see the ocean.” She paused in thought, pondering over the chewy breakfast. “Are we going to see the seabirds?”

“Yes,” said Dedue. “All the seabirds you could imagine. Eiders and terns and cormorants and gulls.” 

“Like in the bird book?” She sucked sweet grease off her thumb, thoughtfully staring at the snow.

“Some of them, yes,” said Dedue. “I think that book was about the southern birds, though.” It had been a parting gift from Mercedes and Leonie, that they had found in the book stalls and markets-- a volume of paintings and facts about birds. Irina could not yet read well enough for the extensive descriptions, but the paintings and names enchanted her.

“What about fish? And whales?” She popped her second dough bite in her mouth, and Dedue reached for one of his own.

“Fish, certainly. Whales?” He paused. “Not this time of year. Wait for the spring.”

“So I’ll see them?” Her eyes grew wide. “They’re supposed to be as big as castles.”

“You might,” said Dedue. “They don’t often come too close to shore.”

“But you said you saw them, Baba,” she said. “When you lived here when you were a little boy, you saw them, right?”

“I did, out on boats. My sister and I and one of her friends would take the boats out in the morning to see them.” He smiled at the memory, the dinky little boat as it tumbled over waves, the sound of his sister’s laughter.

“Can I go on boats?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“We’ll see,” he said, certain he would not be bringing her out in the half-driftwood, barely patched dinghies of his childhood.

“We’ll see about what?” Ashe stretched, wearing his heavier fur-lined coat and knit sweater, layers over layers and a warm hat.

“Going out on the ocean sometime,” said Dedue, reaching up to pull Ashe in for a kiss on his cheek, to which Irina stuck out her tongue. “Get yourself some breakfast and make Irina her tea. I’m going to go change and repack.”

“Do I have to drink my tea?” she whined as Dedue walked into the tent.

“Yes.” Ashe popped a steaming hot ball of dough into his mouth, and fished through their singular camping bag for Rini’s medicines, the glass vial of Mercedes’s making in hand. “It’ll keep you warm.”

“We’re out of peppermint,” she muttered sadly as she scooted to Ashe’s side. “Peppermint makes the medicine taste better.”

“We’ll get more as soon as we can, but you know how much better it feels when you’ve had hot tea and medicine.” Ashe picked the kettle up out of the coals with the sleeve of his coat, and poured the tin cups full of hot water and leaves, and put a drop of medicine into Irina’s cup.

“It tastes gross,” she griped, nestling the mug in her mittened hands.

“Well, it’s a good thing your Baba made such a tasty breakfast to make up for it then, huh, kiddo?”

She nodded reluctantly, raising it to her lips with a wrinkled nose as she sipped. “I wish,” she bubbled into the tea, “it tasted like strawberries and peaches.”

“Maybe that’s a question for Aunt Mercie next time, hm?” He put an arm around her and sipped his own tea, a little watery and weak for a plain black tea, but tolerable for sheltering your daughter from the cold.

“Maybe,” she said, holding her nose as she swallowed another gulp.

“Hey, hey,” said Ashe, “that’ll just hurt your throat.” Irina proceeded to pout in quiet, slouching against her father as she sipped her tea.

“Dedue,” called Ashe, “are we ready to go?”

“Just a moment,” Dedue replied from inside the tent, then walking out with one boot half on and his winter coat half fastened. “I’ll get the tent.”

“No, I got it,” said Ashe, standing up. “You get Rini taken care of. She’s in a mood today.”

“Are you now?” asked Dedue, offering Irina his hand to help her up. She took it, cranky, with her tea in the other hand, and walked slowly by his side, hand in hand, to the wagon.

“I’m sick of tea.” She frowned. “Can I spit it out?”

“No,” said Dedue with a sigh as he knelt to fix her coat buttons and scarf, pulling it back up over the bottom half of her face and making sure her ears were covered by her cap.

“I’m a seal,” she said, muffled by her layers. Dedue rolled his eyes.

“A very cute seal.” He rose again and held her hand, so small by comparison to his, and helped her up onto the back of the wagon, brushing the snow off of the canvas cover and then setting down one of the blankets. “Up you go,” he said, and she laughed.

“We get there today?” She pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, and Dedue helped her tuck them around her arms and shoulders.

“Probably,” he said, harnessing the horse as Ashe ran back with the pieces of the tent, stacking them in the bed of the wagon.

“Let’s get going!” He beamed. “Won’t this be exciting?”

For the first half of the ride, Dedue was at the front of the wagon. Ashe’s horse, Fern, was older, and not very fast, but certainly steady and smooth, and were it not for his distracted adoration of the scenery, Dedue could have fallen asleep-- Ashe and Irina certainly did. Around midday, Dedue gave Fern a break and stopped the cart, warmed some water to drink for all of them, and they switched drivers. Rini and Dedue didn’t sleep, but Rini invented games to busy herself, leaning against her father for warmth as she named the trees and pointed at puffy clouds.

The sun was just beginning to set when Dedue saw it: the lights of Spruce Point-- that was what it was called now, on maps, but it had once had a different name. It was where he remembered it, on the hill above the sea, but far dimmer and more quiet. As they rode into where there had once been a town, there were now husks of buildings that had been burnt down or collapsed from rot over the last two decades. A few newer buildings stood proudly over the cliff, and many had some evident restorative efforts, with new wood beams and panes of glass, but it was a glum reminder of what was still the worst day of Dedue’s life.

“Are you still alright?” Ashe turned around with a half smile of reassurance on his face, the open look that said _I’m here_ that Dedue had come to know well.

“I am fine.”

They rode past his family’s house.

How long had he lived in those three rooms, with stone walls and the wooden rafters? Were his father’s little metal trinkets and sculptures still on the broken window panes? Were the stains of smoke from his mother’s cookstove still on the back wall? He lingered there for a few moments in absent thought, noticing as they passed that there were new windows and new boards. Someone was restoring his family’s home. He wasn’t sure how he felt.

As they grew closer to the more lived-in corner of Spruce Point, the metal streetlights were actually lit under their glass shelters, and the homes were warm and lived in. For a moment, Dedue was hesitant to accept this reoccupation of his home, but as he looked around, he realized most of the residents were Duscur. The writing for street signs was in Duscur characters. The hangings in the windows were for the coming holiday, and the street cats meandering about that had grown fat on the scraps of fish from the shore were most likely the descendants of the street cats he had chased as a little boy. Things were still quite alive and much like they had once been, if not a little battered.

“When do I see the seals!” Irina stood up in the wagon, leaning over the sides as she strained to look out. “Is that the ocean?”

“It is,” said Dedue as they rode about a quarter mile from the pier, up on the hill. “The seals will probably be out in the morning.”

“Wow,” she said, breathless as she leaned out. “It’s so dark.”

“Mhm,” said Dedue. “Ashe, you’re going to turn left towards the lighthouse.”

“You’re sure this old friend of yours can handle three more mouths?” Ashe tilted his head. “I would hate to impose.”

“She will be happy to see us,” said Dedue with a firm nod. “She was a friend of my mother’s.”

“Did you live here?” Irina stretched her shoulders, peeking over the front of the wagon as they rounded the street corner.

“I did,” said Dedue. “For fifteen years.”

“That’s...five threes.” Irina looked up for confirmation from either father, and Ashe nodded. “So this is where all the stories are from?”

“In a way,” said Dedue. “Stories come from everywhere, but this is where I heard them told. And my sister and I ran around and made trouble and-- do you see that house?” He pointed to one with fresh roofing and a bright red door. “There was once an old sailor who lived there, and my sister and I would climb his roof and drop pebbles down his chimney.”

“I can’t see you doing that!” Rini laughed. “Baba, you’re too nice for that.”

Dedue shook his head with a smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“You never told me about that,” said Ashe with a laugh. “Now I’m wondering how many of our new neighbors will be telling me stories about my own husband.”

“Hopefully our neighbors have the good sense not to,” said Dedue dryly but affectionately. “The woman we are staying with could tell us plenty of stories. But keep in mind, both of you, Osane speaks somewhat limited Fodlaner. She may have some difficulty with certain words.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ve been practicing my written Duscur,” said Ashe.

“I would recommend trying to understand hearing it before speaking it,” said Dedue hesitantly. “Written words give you opportunity to process over time, but spoken is in the moment. Be patient with yourself. Ah, stop here.” Dedue held up his hand, and Ashe stopped the wagon in front of the house. It was grey stone, like the others, but a little more battered and lived-in, with flower pots and bushes in the front along the street, and colored glass hanging in the front window. “Be polite, Rini.” She nodded vigorously in agreement, while they all braced themselves for a warm welcome, and Dedue knocked on the door.

It was a moment, and a quiet little reprimanding of a dog to stay back, and a woman opened the door. She was well into her fifties or sixties, with long white hair pinned up and back loosely. Her face was weathered and brown and speckled from the sun, but still had some of the hardness that Dedue remembered from when he was a child. Her jaw was set and square, and her eyes were a keen dark oak, her shoulders angular and strong.

“You’ve gotten taller,” she said stiffly to Dedue, and Irina looked at the woman in awe before Osane opened the door and wrapped him in a hug. The last time that Dedue had hugged Osane, he had been fourteen, maybe fifteen, and she had headed north to visit family and bid farewell to his family for the last time. She had not shrunk since then, but he had grown, and now came to his shoulders instead of him at hers.

“You’ve gotten shorter,” said Dedue, and she laughed as she leaned back into the doorframe.

“This is your family?” she asked, and Dedue nodded, while Ashe awkwardly waved. “Come in, come in. I will show the inn later. For now, let’s get you fed. Such a pretty little girl,” she said, gesturing for them to come in as she held the door open wide. “The spitting image of your grandmother, Dedue,” she said in Duscur. “Are you sure she’s adopted?”

“She is,” said Ashe in Duscur, sheepish and slightly off in the vowels, but distinct enough.

Osane froze for a second, then broke into a laugh. “I like him,” she said. “It’s cold. Come inside, all three of you.”

They took off their worn travelling boots and coats at the door, and Ashe helped Rini take off her scarves and hats and coats and even the little pink mittens. All of the shelters from the weather were left at the door, and Osane went out in boots and her worn house dress and an overcoat to lead the horse and wagon to her small back stable. Her living room was the same as Dedue remembered as a child; built into the walls were benches, cushioned and embroidered by the hands of decades of sewing circles. His favorite one from when he was a child was still there-- a round bolster his aunt had embroidered with such fine stitches of clouds that it looked like a painting. It might have been the only thing left of his aunt’s craft, he thought. Her living room was slightly sunken, with a cookstove in the back and a table prone to moving of dark, worn cedar. The interior walls and floors were panelled with the same wood, and the exterior walls were dark stone. It smelled like familiar heaven, like spiced fish and lemongrass and peppers and roasted vegetables, and although it was something Dedue knew how to make, certainly, there was a certain comfort to the way other people’s hands would touch the same dish.

“Baba,” said Rini, stretching her little shoulders and leaning against him, “can I go get my birds book out of the wagon?”

“After dinner,” said Dedue. “Ashe, sit down.” Ashe was standing, looking at the wall of books teetering beside the door.

“I’ve never seen this many books written in Duscur,” said Ashe, sitting on Irina’s other side. “I didn’t know this many still existed.”

“Osane was one of the people who tried to save them.” Dedue relaxed slightly. “She’s a good woman.”

“She really seems like it.” Ashe smiled. “I could stay in here and read and cook for days.”

“But we have work to do starting tomorrow,” said Dedue.

“What sort of work?” said Irina, her wide dark blue eyes curious. Osane walked in from the back door, brushing powdery snow off her dress and coat and stepping out of her boots.

“We have to fix up the new inn before we can live there,” said Ashe with a smile. “You can stay with Miss Osane during the day when we work, though.”

“But I want to be with you!” She frowned. “I want to go see the seals and the seabirds.”

“I can show you those,” said Osane, kneeling in front of the cookstove. “Dedue, come help an old woman with getting the plates together?”

“You are not an old woman,” said Dedue, rising to his feet and poking through the cabinets beside the stove.

“There is no need for kindnesses,” she said with a smile. “I’m an old woman. Now get the plates.”

“You know the birds and seals and whales?” Rini curled into Ashe’s side for warmth, one arm around him.

“I do,” she said. “But I work in the day around the house. You will have to be patient.”

“My Aunt Leonie says I’m not good at that,” she said, wrinkling her nose, and Osane laughed.

“You didn’t say she was funny too!” She nudged Dedue. “Just like your grandmother!”

“Hopefully not half as much trouble as her namesake,” said Dedue, glancing back at Irina fondly as he helped serve the dinner, a familiar, hearty spiced dish from his childhood that warded off any of winter’s chill that had still remained with them

~<>~

Irina had fallen asleep quickly after dinner was finished. It exhausted her to travel, and combined with a good, familiar dinner and the soothing nighttime meds Mercedes had made for her, she was out like a light on the mattress on the floor, her silver-white hair messy and cowlicked from its day spent under a hat, her hand on her open picture book of birds. Osane had gone to sleep as well, having left Ashe and Dedue to tend the fire and set up their own beds in the living room.

Ashe pushed the two mattresses together after having slowly and cautiously pushed Irina’s closer to the stove for warmth that she needed more than they did. There was barely enough room for the three of them, but it was alright; a roof was better than a tent, and the doors and windows kept the heat in better than flaps. The blankets smelled not like weary traveling things, but like home, like woodsmoke and pine and a little bit of lavender. Stretching out on his own, Ashe glanced over at Dedue, who laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling in thought.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind.” Ashe propped his head up on his elbows, looking at sideways with a quiet voice so as not to disturb their daughter. “Is something bothering you?”

“I’m not sure.” Dedue folded his hands behind his head.

“Would talking help?”

“Maybe.” Dedue sighed.

“What seems wrong?” Ashe pulled up the blanket and smoothed it over.

“I find it difficult to articulate.” Dedue paused. “Do you recall when we returned to the Maplebow, and when we opened the door to the bedroom, you told me that the last time that you were in that room was the night that your parents died?”

“I do,” said Ashe hesitantly.

“The last time that I was here,” said Dedue, “in this entire town, were the days that almost all of Duscur was killed and burnt to the ground. It is hard to return to, even with a few familiar faces.”

“I suppose that it is,” said Ashe morosely. “Coming back is just a reminder of everything that’s gone. And not just your family, either.”

“Everything.” Dedue shook his head. “With people, die their stories. Our selves. What makes us communities. It will never be as it once was, and this is a painful reminder of that. It is the most unforgivable of Fodlan’s sins.”

Ashe could swear he heard his husband’s voice crack.

“It is,” he agreed firmly. “It’s the worst deed ever done. But…” Ashe paused. “People are still coming back to build it again. Maybe the community’s changed in Duscur forever. Maybe a lot of things have been lost. But I don’t think it’s dead.” He paused. “Osane has all the books, and you know so many songs and stories. Everyone here seems to speak the language, or at least have it written on signs and in their houses.”

Dedue shook his head. “But it will never be as it once was. There will always be that shadow, even if, by some enchantment, Duscur rebuilds. We will never recover.” He was beginning to realize that as sympathetic and kind and well meaning as his husband was, this was also something that he would never understand. “This is a pain that will stay with us, forever. Perhaps I am only now reminded of it.”

“I can’t pretend to understand.” Ashe tilted his head. “But...do you remember the siege of Enbarr?”

“Too well.”

“I took a really horrible hit. I’m surprised I even survived, really! You were there, I think, but-- one of the Imperial soldiers struck me across the chest with an axe.”

“I think Claude was sure you had died.” Dedue almost-- almost, laughed at the memory of Claude’s panic over _Ashe_ of all people being the near-fatal casualty at the siege.

“It was really scary! Even with everyone there. And it hurt, really badly.” He sighed. “Even now, after eleven years, you know, it still hurts when I take too deep of a breath or move the wrong way or sometimes for no reason at all. It just hurts.” He pushed his hair behind his ears. “Like Lonato and Cristophe and my parents. It doesn’t need a good reason to hurt again. You don’t have to understand why things hurt. You just have to keep moving. Or, I guess, stay still sometimes and let yourself heal-- but I think maybe that’s the future. Keep moving.”

“It’s easy to say that.” Dedue frowned, but only slightly. “It isn’t your pain.”

“No,” said Ashe, “it isn’t. And I could very easily be wrong. But maybe coming back here was a step in the right direction. It’s a way to keep moving. Maybe travelers will come through, and you can tell them how things once were. Claude has already helped with giving Duscur people their land back, a lot, and the deoccupation ended five years ago with all the local lords. Even if Fodlan didn’t recognize Duscur sovereignty, which it did, it’s functionally sovereign now anyways. The steps in the right direction are slow,” admitted Ashe. “But they’re steps to healing. You can’t get the lives lost back, not ever again. But if we make sure Fodlan never does anything like this again, it could help heal that wound. It might still ache. It might ache forever! But it can heal, too.”

“Maybe.” Dedue wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if any amount of healing would ever feel right to him. But he thought of the fat dock cats who ate fish scraps, the smell of the sea, the gleam of the lighthouse on the shore, the crash of the waves, the smell of fresh cooked dinners, his aunt’s embroidery-- and even as bittersweet and painful as it was to be here, even almost unbearable, he also felt some semblance of comfort alongside the pain of such horrific memories.

“Are you tired?” Ashe asked.

“Always,” said Dedue jokingly, and Ashe smiled.

“I’m worried about Irina.”

“You’re always worried about Irina,” said Dedue, as if he wasn’t.

“Do you think she’ll be lonely?” asked Ashe. “I’m sure I sound like a parrot with one question, but she was just starting to make friends.”

“I think Irina is the kind of little girl who makes friends anywhere that she goes.” Dedue paused. “The world is her friend right now.”

“How long do you think it will be until she realizes that she can’t stay like that forever?” Ashe laid back flat on the mattress.

“I think being here will eventually mean that she’ll find out the truth about Duscur and Fodlan, if she has not pieced together much of it already. She will, sooner or later, know that the world is cruel. But I hope she doesn’t need to grow up too soon. You only get to be that innocent once in your life.”

“You’re right.” Ashe sighed. “I just worry. Maybe tomorrow we should take her to see the seals. I haven’t seen the ocean myself since I was even younger than Rini, except for on the battlefield. I think it’ll be exciting.”

“It’s too cold for a picnic,” said Dedue.

“I don’t think we need a picnic,” said Ashe. “Just a nice view and some of the fresh air. I hope it agrees with her, you know.”

“My mother used to say there was nothing a good whiff of salt air couldn’t help, and not a thing it could hurt.”

“I hope she’s right.”

“As do I.”

They were silent for a few moments, the still quiet of the dying stove and the wind’s low music outside the only noise.

“I love you.” Ashe scooted closer to Dedue, putting an arm over him. “I do.”

“I love you too,” said Dedue, pulling the blankets up over the both of them to keep them warm. “Good night.”

“Mhm,” said Ashe, who was already falling asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Ashe held the basket for the market wares under one arm, and his other hand was in his pocket as he inspected the day’s catch of fish. Spring was always a good season for fish, but the storms made the risk more tangible, even if it was more profitable. He tapped his finger against his jaw in thought. Budgeting was always his finest skill; they could afford thirty gold pieces in fish this week, but today might be the best price they got--

“I’ll take three halibut.”

“Seven gold, five silver,” said the fisherman, and Ashe pursed his lips patiently.

“Well, that would ordinarily be a fair price,” he said hesitantly, “but you know, it’s been a warm spring. The meat on it won’t be as greasy, what with all the other competition. It won’t fry as nicely.” He paused, kneeling to closely inspect the catches in the bin. “It’s no fault of your own, but is it really fair to charge that much?”

“Duran,” said the fisherman with a grin, “you don’t have to haggle with an old seaman.”

“How else am I supposed to know I’m getting the best price?” Ashe asked playfully. “I’ll pay, I’ll pay.” He grabbed the pieces from his coinpurse and handed them to the man, who was wrapping the fish in paper, along with two small trout.

“I only wanted the halibut,” said Ashe. “I can’t accept these.”

“They’re not for you,” said the fisherman. “They’re for that little girl of yours.”

“Really, let me pay you,” said Ashe, reaching back into his coinpurse and fishing out the pieces.

“No.” The fisherman put the paper packages in Ashe’s basket. “You can’t sit here and haggle for a lower price then get mad when I give it to you.”

“Oh yes I can,” said Ashe persistently, trying to hand him a gold piece.

“No. That kid of yours needs it. Get out of here before I have you kicked out!” The fisherman was joking, of course, but Ashe glared at him with a disingenuous scowl before turning around and leaving. The resistance, of course, was a way to show gratitude for his kindness, to acknowledge that it was too much. But he would take it anyways. Maybe he’d be a little more merciful with his haggling tomorrow.

Ashe hefted the basket up onto his shoulder, stretching. Oh, he thought, was being thirty six catching up with him? Was he finally old? The thought almost made him laugh. It was almost like time had slipped away from him over all of these years.

He was now a year older than his father had been when he died.

Not that Ashe hadn’t expected to live longer than his parents, he thought, kicking a pebble up the path towards the inn. He had. His parents had been very young, in very different circumstances. But the thought still hung around him now and then, like a mosquito that buzzed around his ear: harmless, but a little bit of a nuisance. Paver stones underfoot faded to dirt the further he got from the bustle of the town, and the inn was a quarter mile up the hill, perched like a book on a shelf. It had once been a manor, according to Osane: a bigger family that had plenty of money had built it a long time ago for all of the aunts and uncles and grandmothers and grandfathers and cousins and third cousins to live in, but it was empty long before the Tragedy of Duscur, said Dedue-- that he remembered he and his friends poking around in its yards and chasing cats through the broken windows.

Over the course of two years, though, he and Dedue had made it into an inn and a place for travellers. Its sprawling dining room received guests every night again, and its fireplaces burnt bright once more. The two of them, after time with construction and nearly religious historical restoration from the memories of the older people still in town, had made it into their home and inn. And, thought Ashe proudly, after a year of living there, he couldn’t say there was a single place on the earth that he loved better.

He opened the backdoor with his key, twisting the creaky knob with a click. The restaurant kitchen was all cool stone and wood counters and hearths and pantries and copper and cast iron, and he had to admit he couldn’t have ever asked for a better place. Dedue had fresh bread out on the counter, still warm to the touch, and Ashe smiled and put the basket on the counter. Today was the day that the kitchen and restaurant were closed, though there were still a handful of guests in the inn. He quietly slipped up the stairs to their family’s small suite. It was a little tighter than the Maplebow’s, but none of them really minded; it stayed warmer in the cold winters and when the windows were opened in the summers, the ocean breeze was sufficient for keeping cool. He tiptoed inside.

This was Irina’s first week back at the inn since she had fallen ill early in the winter. It had been horrific on both Ashe and Dedue; neither of them had managed to sleep in any substantial amounts for months, and they each alternated nights sleeping by her side at Osane’s, to keep her away from guests to the inn. They had a livelihood to maintain, but balancing survival on one side and the other both had been exhausting. But they were over the crest of the wave now; the worst of the storm had seemed to be over and Osane had said that Irina had to go home, or else she’d smack the next of the Duran-Molinaro husbands to walk into her house without knocking with a broom.

Irina was asleep, nestled in the corner of the sofa in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a woolen blanket Dedue had made for her over the winter, and a quilt of Osane’s that had simply stuck to the little girl. Ashe couldn’t help but notice how sunken her cheeks were, how thin and dry her hair was, how her skin seemed like a vessel for bones and little else. She was recovering, but she had truly been worn thin by disease. Their little girl, he thought, was far tougher than any one person should have had to be. He leaned down and tucked the woven wool blanket tighter around her and kissed her forehead, then tiptoed into the private kitchen, trying to stay quiet so as not to disturb Irina.

Dedue stood at the stove, stirring the pot of stewing, fragrant vegetables, spices, and herbs. “How was the docks?”

“It was just fine,” said Ashe, leaning back and closing his book. “I got a good deal on some halibut for tomorrow morning, so no complaints there. It’s a beautiful day. Some of the kids were out flying kites off the docks.”

“Were they?” said Dedue. “Well, it is the springtime. The winds are just right.”

“How’s the kid?” said Ashe, who had affectionately taken to simply calling her the kid.

“In and out,” said Dedue, setting aside the spoon and reaching for a glass of water on the counter. “She did not eat much breakfast, but something is better than nothing.”

“Did she take her meds alright?” said Ashe.

“No complaints,” said Dedue, “but I do wonder if that is a good thing or not.”

“Fair,” said Ashe. “She just fell asleep on the couch?”

“She said she was getting bored sleeping in bed all day,” said Dedue, “so I carried her out here.”

“Well, I guess I would be bored too,” said Ashe, “so sleeping on the couch is at least a change of scenery.”

“What she could use the most is likely fresh air, though,” said Dedue, glancing back out to the living room.

“Probably,” said Ashe. “But it’s still a little too cold outside.” He stood and peeked out the window at the garden. “Any new letters?”

“Nothing from Mercedes, if that is what you are asking,” said Dedue. “One letter from a guest back in Lone Moon arrived this morning, though.”

“Ah,” said Ashe. “Well, we should write them back.” He poked through the pantry, looking for anything quick for lunch. “Is Osane still coming for dinner?”

“She had not changed her mind this morning when she brought by the eggs,” said Dedue, shaking his head. “She runs us out of her house then misses us enough to come terrorize ours.”

Ashe laughed. “Well, she’s been more than generous. We can stand to feed her a couple times a week, and besides,” said Ashe, “I think she’s gotten lonely without us around.”

“I _know_ she has,” said Dedue, shaking his head. “She doesn’t have a family anymore. We are the closest thing she has to it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ashe. “I guess I ought to get going on the pudding I was going to put together for dessert.”

“Take your time,” said Dedue. “The sun is still up, and I cannot remember a time in my life where Osane was ever early.”

At that moment, there was a knock on the downstairs door, the distinct sharp rap of knuckles against the wood.

“She’s never early?” Ashe cracked a smile, and he headed for the stairs-- and Irina stirred, pushing herself up.

“Papa,” she said, throat hoarse, “you’re back. What time is it?” She blinked as she glanced to the mantlepiece clock, pulling the blankets tighter and sighing.

“It’s just after five. Calm down,” he said. “Osane’s here, I’m just letting her in.”

Blearily, Irina nodded, and Ashe made a dash for the backdoor, throwing it open and beaming at Osane, who was holding a basket of flatbread, the kind Ashe adored and had not yet perfected on his own.

“Come in, come in,” said Ashe, switching to Duscur. “I heard you brought the eggs this morning?”

“The chickens have been, well, productive,” said Osane. “I thought the two of you could probably find some way to use them.”

“We always can,” said Ashe with a smile. “Let’s head upstairs. Dinner’s almost ready, but since you’re a little early, I can’t make promises about dessert.”

“Did you procrastinate?” Osane folded her arms, and Ashe shrugged sheepishly as he held open the apartment door for her. “I’ll take that as a yes. Rini!” Osane set down the basket on the nearest table and headed right for the couch. She had taken to the little girl like a granddaughter, and she sat down cautiously on the seat beside her.

“Osane,” she said, scooting closer as Osane gave her a big hug.

“Have you been on your very best behavior? Like we talked about?” Irina nodded, and Ashe made a break for the kitchen.

“I got it from here,” he said to Dedue. “I got dessert to make, you go socialize. You’ve been busy all morning.”

“Thank you,” said Dedue, kissing Ashe’s cheek, the white soft stubble bristling against Ashe’s cheek. Dedue sat down in his armchair, with the whoosh of exhaustion coming out in a sigh.

“Any new reading for you?” said Osane, carrying on a conversation with the still dazed Irina, who shook her head.

“My head hurts too bad to read much. But Baba’s been reading to me the books you gave me. The Duscur ones.”

“Which ones do you like best? Now, I remember when you and I were together, you liked the ones about plants--”

“The poetry one.” She leaned slightly into Osane’s side. “The rhythms are really pretty. And you read them just right,” she said, glancing to Dedue.

“Poetry?” Osane raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you’re a Molinaro.”

“Oh, come now, Osane, don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” said Dedue.

“It is not a bad thing,” she replied, “but your mother, Dedue, wrote more poetry than any of us knew what to do with, and even your aunt would have to ask her to stop now and then. You remember?”

“I do remember,” said Dedue with a fond smile. “Do you have any of it?”

“No,” said Osane, with a wistful, nearly sad look in her eyes. “Which is a shame. Some of it might have even been readable.”

“Maybe she’s been spared the indignity of your criticism,” said Dedue with a smile. “But which poetry do you like, Rini?”

“Uh…” She paused, and Osane stroked her hair soothingly. “The one book about spring. All of those sound like music.”

“They are music!” said Osane. “I swear, next time I’ll bring my lyre, and your father can sing--”

“Osane, I don’t sing--”

“Oh, you used to sing when you were as little as your little girl is now,” she said. “Come sing again, or I will ask Ashe.”

“I’ll sing,” called Ashe from the kitchen, and Osane cracked a smile.

“They’re meant to be music. Poetry, music, there is not much difference, but they are meant to go together. That is why the spring poems sound like music.”

“I would like to hear them, then,” said Irina. “How are the dock seals?” Her eyes went wide. “You have kept feeding them, haven’t you?”

“They’re like the strays of the ocean,” said Osane, shaking her head as Irina frowned at her.

“They’re hungry!”

“They’d be fine if I didn’t feed them,” said Osane. “But yes, I still bring my scraps now and then.”

“Good,” said Irina. “I don’t want them to go hungry.”

Osane sighed. Explaining the seals’ roles in the ecosystem to a nine year old, and that they did not rely on an old woman’s table scraps, was not in her range of patience.

“Has it been too quiet for you this week, Osane?” asked Dedue. “Without Ashe or I, or Irina, I imagine your house has been very peaceful.”

“No, it hasn’t,” said Osane. “My little dog got too used to you all spoiling him, and now he wants my attention all the time. I have been busy,” said Osane. “But sometimes I do miss making dinners for two. Don’t forget, Rini,” she said, “when you’re well, you can come visit any time.”

“I might,” said Rini with a weak but genuine smile. “I like the inn, though. It’s home.”

“Of course,” said Osane, ruffling her hair.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” called Ashe. “Osane, come help set the table!”

“You invite an old woman into your home and you ask her to set the table?” She shook her head. “Dedue, your husband is a stupid man.”

“That’s why I love him,” said Dedue, and Irina stuck her tongue out. “Rini, you ready?” Dedue stood and offered out his arm to pick her up, and she nodded as her father picked her up gently and carried her to her seat at the dining table, where Osane was putting out the bowls and glasses. He went to the kitchen and helped Ashe carry out dinner and grabbed the bread Osane had brought, and all four of them sat down at the table.

Osane muttered a quiet prayer over the bread, and handed them all pieces, and then, the conversation went from the quiet of pre-dinner blessings, to a fountain of conversation.

The fountain narrowed to a trickle as they finished dinner, and after Ashe served dessert, it was down to a slow, steady drip, the hot tea barely keeping any of the high energy alive-- and instead keeping the hushed, soft, gentle talks of late evening going. The bright herbal tea helped wash down Irina’s medications, and Ashe helped pick her up and carry her to bed, kissing her and tucking her in, even though she insisted she was too old to be read stories and tucked in like a child-- and Ashe found himself wondering where those days had gone. Osane left with a hug to the both of them, and told them to take good care of her little Rini, and Dedue had given her the leftovers from dinner, insisting that even if she didn’t eat them herself, the seals were always hungry. And like that, with dishes washed and the fireplace lit, the evening turned to night, and Ashe and Dedue settled on the couch.

Dedue had taken to knitting years ago, over reading or other evening activities. It was relaxing, the slow repetitive motion of the wood needles clacking against one another, the weight of a project on his lap-- and the fact that he didn’t need to hunt down his reading glasses for that evening occupation. He had a habit of losing them almost as quickly as he’d lost his close vision after he’d started growing older, and although Ashe still had the eagle eyes he’d been famous for all those years ago, Dedue could seldom get a clear image of the fine block-printed words that lay in books without his glasses. It was fine with him, he thought-- he liked to knit. It didn’t really ask for much from him. Just patience.

Ashe was reading, though. Slumped against Dedue’s shoulder, reading one of the older novels that had entered into republication after the newer printing methods had taken off in Leicester, his hair was a mussed silver-gray mess. Dedue wondered if, well, if Ashe’s hair even could go gray with age. When they’d seen Sylvain last, his bright red hair was pierced with vivid white shots of age’s marks at the temples. Would Ashe one day have white hair? He already had crinkles around his eyes, smile lines around his mouth-- Dedue, despite his two years of seniority, hadn’t yet grown the creases of age like his husband had. Maybe Dedue couldn’t see the words on the page, but he could see the thin lines around Ashe’s mouth and the corners of his eyes, the laugh lines and crinkles.

“What are you thinking about?” Ashe asked in Duscur, looking up from his book. “Your knitting slowed down.”

“You know, in two weeks, we’ll have been married for twelve years.”

Ashe set down his book, his thumb a placeholder as he laid it on his lap. “Huh.” He paused. “I knew that, of course, but I guess I hadn’t really thought of it. It’s a long time, huh?”

“It is,” said Dedue. “I was just thinking about how much we’ve grown older.”

“Not much smarter, though,” joked Ashe. “No, you’re right, though. We have gotten older. A lot’s changed. Who would’ve thought twelve years ago we’d be here now?”

“I suppose I knew we would come to Duscur.” Dedue started another row.

“I did too,” said Ashe, “but I honestly didn’t think we would open an inn successfully.”

“The alternative was being unsuccessful,” said Dedue.

“Well, yes,” said Ashe. “I was honestly...really nervous that we were going to have to close down before we even opened. That it would be too much as a project for us to finish, especially with Rini. The fact that we’re still here is pretty nice.”

“We’ve only been open for a year,” said Dedue, and Ashe laughed.

“Yeah, you’re right! Maybe I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Maybe we are doomed.”

“I don’t think we are.” Dedue leaned back and set aside his knitting.

“How’s that?” said Ashe.

“It’s only been three years since we moved back.” Dedue leaned back into the sofa. “And Spruce Point has only grown.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’ll grow with it,” said Ashe, and the smile on his face told Dedue he was playing at debate.

“Ah,” said Dedue, “but we have.”

“How so?”

“We are the only inn in town.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” said Ashe, leaning down. “Did you lose your glasses again?”

“They are not lost,” said Dedue, “I am just relatively certain I left them downstairs.”

Ashe scoffed. “You really should keep them in your pocket or something,” he said fondly.

“If I do not need them for almost all of the day, why would I keep them in my pocket?”

“I can’t fathom how you wouldn’t want to hold onto them!” Ashe reached up and fixed the collar of Dedue’s shirt. “You look so handsome with your glasses.”

“And I simply think I will leave them where I see fit.”

“Why even have them?” said Ashe, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“Because you think I look handsome,” said Dedue, and Ashe laughed. “Now, I will put out the fire, and we can close things up for the night.”

“Alright,” said Ashe. “I guess I’ll have to move the reading hour to bed. You bathe first. I want to finish this chapter.”

Dedue sighed and stood up, stretching his shoulders, as he knelt in front of the fireplace, stirring the coals down to ash and sprinkled sand over it from the bucket, raking it for a moment, while Ashe lit the lamp in their bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Dedue walked over the still-creaky floors into the water closet, then bath, and started the hot water running. Soaking off a whole day of stress, he sighed and lowered himself into the tub, then brushed oil through his hair, the fine white strands smooth and damp to the touch. He closed his eyes for a moment--

And then there was the knock on the door.

“Daddy,” said Irina in a clearly strained, scared sounding voice. “Daddy, are you in there?”

“I am,” said Dedue, sighing. _Daddy_ was used for either of them, but especially for when she felt awful. “Is something wrong?”

“Everything hurts,” she said in a quiet sob. “And you pray better than Papa does.”

“Let me put on my pajamas, starlight,” he said as he put on pants. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” she said. “My chest when I breathe. My legs and my arms and my head and my stomach. It all hurts,” she said. “I can’t sleep it’s so bad.”

“Okay,” said Dedue, buttoning up his nightshirt and pulling his long, damp hair out of the collar. “I’m coming.”

Irina was curled in front of the door, sitting tucked into the blanket, staring as she waited for him.

“Did you walk here?” asked Dedue. She shook her head.

“I scooted.”

“Ah.” That bad. “Well, I will pick you up and take you to your room, then. And then we can pray and read. Is that okay?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, and Dedue bent down and scooped her up. She was nine, he thought-- nine years old and still nearly the same size she’d been at six. Longer, lankier, maybe, but too thin.

“Dedue?” called Ashe from the bedroom. “Is Rini up?”

“She is,” called Dedue, and Ashe walked out of the bedroom, and held open Irina’s door for Dedue. 

“Starlight, what got you up?”

“Everything hurts.” She took a shaky breath. “It scared me.”

“Oh, starlight,” said Ashe, sitting down on her bed, covered in quilts and knit blankets and stuffed toys, “we’re here, alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, as Dedue set her down beside Ashe and she leaned against him. “Baba, can you do the prayers?”

Dedue was not Mercedes. He wasn’t a very good healer, really. He wasn’t even half as good as his uncle had been, or his mother, or any of their oldest friends. But he could make her feel a little better, ease the pain-- and although Osane had far more knowledge of herbal remedies and practical medicine, and he trusted her, the nightly aches and pains were within his domain.

“Hold out your hands,” said Dedue, and her tiny, still fat childish hands rested in her father’s hardened, broad, calloused palms. “Are you ready?” Irina nodded.

He didn’t like to pray aloud. It didn’t feel right. There were lines of poetry and old stories and songs, but to pray for healing always felt wrong to Dedue. Instead, he held her hands, and he thought about the sea. It was ancient, deep, abiding and old and infinitely vast, and it was a reminder to him-- he was a very small thing in a very big world, and this tiny piece of energy to heal his daughter for the night, to give her rest, was simply a current he was channeling. His belief in it, gave it its power.

A dim, blue-violet glow began in his palms and began to slowly move up Irina’s forearms, and she gasped.

“All okay?” he asked.

“It tickles,” she said, keeping her palms against his as the glow blanketed her. After a moment, he saw her slowly begin to relax.

“Is that better?”

Irina nodded, and they parted palms. She leaned back against Ashe.

“Now, time for sleep.” Dedue stood up, and Ashe with him.

“Good night, starlight,” said Ashe.

“Wait,” said Irina. “Can you stay with me tonight? I’m still scared.”

Dedue met Ashe’s eyes, and Ashe met Dedue’s, the both of them silently conversing-- before Ashe sighed and sat down.

“Of course we can. Do you want me to brush out your hair? It’s still wet, you don’t want it tangling in the night.” She nodded, and Ashe grabbed the brush off of her dresser, and slowly began to work at the knots at the end. Her hair was brittle, thought Ashe, as dry as straw-- but he would be gentle, and try not to tear.

“Can you tell me about the birds?” she said, pulling her very favorite animal, a cat that Osane had dug up that once had belonged to her niece, close to her chest as Dedue tucked the blankets around her. “From the book.”

“Ah, from the book.” The book, a text that was nearly sacred to Irina in its invaluable contents on the informative natures of birds, sat still on her nightsand, and Dedue picked it up. “Which one tonight?”

“The plover,” she said softly.

Dedue flipped to the page alphabetically, skimming over the stamped illustrations and wood-carved printed words, and the handwritten page numbers at the bottom. “Plover.”

“Why plovers?” asked Ashe, who was more smoothing her hair gently than he was brushing it at this point.

“They’re little,” said Irina, “and they’re nice.”

“I see,” said Dedue. “The crab plover is a species of wading seabird related to the gull. It is native to the southern coasts of the Empire, Brigid, and southern Dagda. They are distinctive for their black, heavy bills and unique calls.” Dedue paused. “Do you want to see the picture?”

“Mhm,” said Irina, and he held it up for her. She paused for a moment, looking at it. “I want to see one someday.”

“They aren’t native to Duscur. It’s too cold for them here.”

“I know,” she said, frowning. “Keep going?”

“Alright.” Dedue turned back to the book. “The crab plover feeds primarily from dawn to dusk, and in groups. Its beak appears to have been specialized for eating crabs.” Dedue read a few more entries aloud, before Irina fell asleep, her cat in her arms, tucked under four or five blankets, soothed again.

“Do you think she’ll wake up?” said Ashe.

“Probably,” said Dedue. “It’s late.”

“It is,” agreed Ashe, whose lap Irina had fallen asleep on. “I can stay with her.”

“It’s alright,” said Dedue. “I will stay too.”


End file.
